


Let Me Entertain You

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Altmodes, Dare, Dirty Talk, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, Hand-wavy explanation, Holomatter Avatars, Mutual Pining, Other, Party Ambulance, Partying, Pole Dancing, Requited Love, Rossums Trinity as BroT3, Space-time Accident, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take one gratuitous space-time accident, no explanations and  a large serving of celebration.<br/>Mix in one modified Party Ambulance altmode and let sit while the meddling best friends grind their teeth in frustration.<br/>When all patience has been exhausted, throw in two Holomatter avatars a dance-off and serve while hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For your Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlimReaper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/gifts).



> [:Commspeak:]  
> Drift's dancing playlist, in order: Let Me Entertain you (Robbie Williams), Keeps Getting Better (Christina), Raise Your Glass (P!nk), Dare (Shakira)

Drift couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Ratchet.

No longer the crisp, elegant red-and-white of Drift’s lifelong fantasies with medic insignia and Autobrand worn proudly but palest energon pink with gaudy red decals that read ‘Party Ambulance’ branded across his hood and upper arms. The mechs he’d served with on Earth seemed to recognise the change. Jazz for one bounded up to high-five the medic and say something about having ‘kept’ the schematics.

_He’s done this before? Primus, I think I need another drink._

As a rule, Drift didn’t drink very much but everything about this reunion party seemed to be designed to thoroughly traumatise anyone who wasn’t part of the old Earth Autobot Crew and the only was he (and many of the younger mecha) could think of to cushion the impact on their sanity was to down more Engex than ususal.

He definitely needed it to deal with the sight of Ratchet in _that paint_.

 _He_ does _know it’s only a few shades darker than valve lubricant, right? He’s a medic, he_ has _to know what it looks like!_

It was so hot Drift would swear he could feel his core temperature rise several degrees every time he glanced at the ambulance. There was even a hint of shimmer to it as if there was glitter or some kind of iridescence added to the paint. _Definitely_ lewd as all Pit and most likely had something to do with Suntreaker’s smug expression. So far as Drift could tell nobody had commented on specific shade of paint Ratchet had chosen for the evening, but everyone was definitely being far more handsy than usual with the CMO. Little touches, hands lingering on broad shoulders or strong waist. Friendly pats to the forearm and strokes along the lower back to get his attention or even when wandering past, in the case of Ironhide.

And Ratchet _didn’t seem to care_.

In fact, he almost seemed to _welcome_ it.

Drift had never seen anything like this before.

He contemplated the surface of his cocktail and wondered if he would be better off slipping out now instead of torturing himself by staying and watching everyone else do what he was too scared to do. Watching Ratchet talk –and yes, flirt. The Hatchet was actually _flirting_ with Ironhide right now, with _everyone_ , while he was too scared to even go say hi, just in case his being there accidentally reminded Ratchet of their shared past and wrecked his evening.

_I’ll finish this then go. Don’t want to ruin everyone else’s good time._

Mind made up, Drift swallowed a good quarter of his drink in one go, coughing a little at the burn. Without warning Jazz settled himself into the empty chair beside Drift and poked the morose Swordsmech in the side.

“’Sup, Drifter?” The saboteur asked, stealing Drift’s drink for a curious sip before sliding it back.

“Not much.” Drift said, poking at a sticky patch on the table. “How’s your night going?”

“Good, my mech. Really good.” Jazz said with an air of extreme satisfaction. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. Somethin’ bothering you?”

He couldn’t help it; his optics were drawn back to Ratchet. The medic appeared to be saying something rather saucy to Prowl, who actually _smiled_ and his doorwings did a little fluttery thing that made Jazz's engine rev. 

“I haven’t seen this side of old Hatchet in _centuries_.” Jazz said meditatively, “I was almost afraid the war killed it.”

“ _What?!_ ” Drift cycled his optics at Jazz in shock.

The silver mech grinned, pointing a claw-tipped finger at Drift.

“ _You_ thought this was out of character for him, didn’t you?” Jazz accused, laughing merrily at Drift’s expression. “Oh my mech, you have _no_ idea. Stick around, I guarantee you won’t regret it.” With that oblique comment Jazz flickered one side of his visor in a wink and slid out of his seat, leaving a seriously confused Drift alone again.

Drift shook himself and turned Jazz’ parting statement over in his processor. Was it worth staying around to find out in person what the saboteur was on about or should he quit while he was ahead and get the gossip from Rodimus in the morning? After seeing Ratchet nudge Ironhide with an elbow and laugh like he’d just told the universe’s funniest joke, Drift decided that it was probably the wisest thing for him to do. No matter how overcharged he got, Rodimus could always be counted on for a reliable highlights rundown.

_Speaking of the Unmaker…_

The red and gold speedster slid into the seat Jazz had just vacated, pushing it back so he could prop his pedes up on the table Drift was leaning on. He saluted Drift with his cube and knocked back half of it, sighing happily through his vents as he swallowed. Drift could feel the heat pouring off the other mech, Rodimus had been right in the thick of the dancing for the last several hours and his cube had the distinctive colour of a low-engex coolant blend. His paint was accented with haematite stripes, alternately matte black or high-gloss silver when the light hit them. Matching piping outlined his spoiler and probably helped dull the sensitivity of its receptors in the thick of the dancing so he could keep the neural connections online without keeling over from sensory overload.

Drift was possibly the only mech in the room without any adornment. Even Prowl had been coaxed into something, his chevron practically glowing and his doorwings broadcasting surprise flashes of colour with every movement.

 _He looks like a giant butterfly_.

“Doing ok back here, Drift?” Rodimus asked when his cooling system had dumped enough heat, “You don’t look too happy. Is the music too loud for your audials?”

The Swordsmech shook his head, looking away from Ratchet and back at the table in front of him. Rodimus knew about the lingering sensornet issues he was having after Delphi. Full-body rust infection, old injuries and overzealous repair nanites were a difficult combination.

“Still haven’t talked to him, huh.” Rodimus said, swinging his feet down off the table and leaning close to Drift. “I swear you two are getting so bad even Ultra Magnus is tempted to lock you both in a small room and throw away the key.”

That earned Rodimus a disbelieving look but he seemed to be completely serious.

“The only reason nobody’s done that yet is because there isn’t a room in the known universe that could hold the pair of you if you didn’t want to be there.” Rodimus snorted through his vents and downed the rest of his coolant blend. “We kinda need the ship in one piece and that’s hard enough to do as it is.”

“So what’s the point of tonight, again?” Drift asked, attempting to divert his friend from the subject he really didn’t want to get into. “Besides debauchery and damaged audials, I mean.”

“Having a little fun before Brainstorm and Perceptor fix that space-time rift.” Rodimus’ tone plainly said he thought that it was obvious and Drift was painfully slow for not picking it up sooner. “No idea how it happened, but I don’t care so long as it gets fixed and the universes don’t come to a screaming end.”

It took a truly heroic effort not to bring up the subject of Ratchet’s new paint job and grill Rodimus about the meaning of the phrase ‘Party Ambulance’. If he did he knew there was no way he was getting out of here with his dignity intact. A gap opened in the crowd of mechs just Ratchet turned and Drift got an excellent view of just how thorough the repaint was.

_Every. Single. Plate... I need some of that coolant._

“You’re looking rather plain,” Rodimus observed, giving Drift’s plain wax the old-fashioned hairy eyeball. “You do know you could have asked Magnus or me to help you, right?” The red-and-gold mech sipped his coolant blend meditatively. “Actually, Magnus would do a better job. See? He did his own paint.”

Looking obediently to where Rodimus pointed, Drift could clearly see the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord indeed had elegant markings adorning his armour plates, all in his usual colours. They were very subtle, relatively formal and tasteful in a way that surprised Drift.

“He looks good.” The Swordsmech said freely. “It’s good to see him relax a little.”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” Rodimus sighed, raising his cube to his mouth.

Drift did the same, glancing down at his glossy plating and wondered if it would be worth approaching Magnus next time. He _was_ drawing attention for being under-decorated, and something like what Magnus had done was much more to his taste than Rodimus’ liberal scrollwork or the wild patterns showing up on Jazz’s plating near the blacklight.

Crowd noise increased around the older mechs and people started backing away, clearing a space around Ratchet, Prowl, Ironhide and Jazz. Identical frowns crossed the speedsters’ faces, but Ultra Magnus waved his hand, indicating they should stay where they were. Ratchet’s slightly drunken laughter as Ironhide boldly grabbed the medic’s aft made Drift’s Spark do a flip.

Then the medic transformed.

The rear doors opened and Drift felt his tank drop to somewhere around his pedes while heat started gathering in his audial flares as well as somewhere much lower. He was momentarily distracted by Rodimus spitting his drink over the table, then his optics were right back on the medic currently stealing the limelight.

Ratchet’s ambulance bay looked nothing like the Earth-based emergency vehicle interior Drift had expected. Instead it was all but empty with deep, protoform-silver walls and a floor that was an absolutely lascivious shade of lubricant pink shot through with silver swirls. Pride of place right in the centre of the ambulance bay and illuminated by little spotlights was a sturdy dancing pole. Ratchet’s holomatter avatar was leaning against it, a slag-eating grin plastered all across its face.

_Oh yeah, he knows what it looks like, alright._

Then Jazz started blasting a fast, bass-heavy song and Ratchet’s avatar demonstrated exactly _why_ that pole was there.

When Drift finally recovered from the shock of seeing Autobot CMO Ratchet pole-dancing in his own ambulance bay a sense of creeping outrage started to overcome him.

“What the frag does he think he’s doing?!” Drift asked incredulously, unable to hide just how appalled he was as Ratchet revealed that he had absolutely no idea how to go about translating Cybertronian dance moves to a human form. “What does he call _that?!_ Primus’ sake, he’s _butchering_ it! Those moves just don’t _work_ with organic frames!”

“He’s pretty good for an amateur, but even _I_ could see how bad that was.” Rodimus shook his helm. “I think I need another drink. Maybe there’s enough engex on the ship to short my memory core. About the only thing Hatchet’s got going for him right now is that he’s in time.”

Ratchet did… _something_ that could have been a failed attempt at any of three different moves and suddenly Drift had had enough. He pinged Ratchet and waited for the medic to accept the commlink. Rodimus raised an optical ridge when the response from Ratchet was a multi-way conversation link between the three of them.

[:You two enjoying the show?:] Ratchet sent, subglyphs of amusement and enjoyment underlying his words.

[:I think it’s hilarious but Drift is having artistic conniptions over here:] Rodimus jumped in before Drift could frame his own reply.

[:Think you can do better, kid?:] Ratchet asked archly, holomatter avatar raising an eyebrow in their direction.

[:I _know_ I can:] Drift growled over the comm, engine rumbling beneath the music.

[:Come over here and prove it then:] Ratchet’s avatar cocked its head invitingly, beckoning Drift over with one hand while the other reached up to pat the pole. [:Dance off; you and me. Loser buys the coolant:]

That last part was sent over the general comm. Helms turned to see where Ratchet was pointing and surprise ripped through the room when they realised who the CMO was challenging.

[:You’re on:] Drift replied over the same open channel, glyphs full of absolute confidence. He sent a datapacket to Jazz. [:That’s my playlist, beat maestro. Who’s judging this?:]

Rodimus flashed him an amused look. They both knew that asking someone to judge was simply a formality. Ratchet would be receiving his own aft on a platter and the Party Ambulance would be begging the Dead End’s Divine Drifter for dancing lessons.

[:We’ll let the people decide:] Ratchet said magnanimously. [:You coming over here or what?:]

It was hard not to laugh at that. Did he _really_ think Drift was such a rank amateur that he needed to be closer in order to reduce distractions while projecting his holomatter avatar into the ambulance bay? Drift smirked and offlined his optics briefly, accessing the avatar program and selecting a design Ultra Magnus had created specifically for showing off.

_Similar relative proportions and flexibility to my frame, silly costume thingie and the base human design we decided looked the most ‘me’…ah here we go._

Without so much as a twitch Drift projected his holomatter avatar across the bar and relaxed back into the seat, trusting Rodimus to keep an eye on his frame while he danced. The smirk he’d been wearing was plastered across his avatar’s face as he took in the look of shock on the face of Ratchet’s avatar as Drift executed a standing jump to land lightly on his toes in the open doors of the ambulance bay.

“Is this close enough for you?” The avatar program took over, rerouting his voice to the avatar and pitching it up slightly to become more-or-less what it would be expected to sound like. “Now, are you going to let a _real_ dancer show you how this is done?”

The expression on Ratchet’s face as Drift’s avatar brushed past him was absolutely _priceless_. He knew Rodimus would be taking image captures. Failing that Drift knew he could always bribe Rewind for a few stills; the archivist was front and centre in the crowd. Drift aimed a fierce, reckless grin at the glowing red on Rewind’s helm and saw the minibot’s visor brighten with surprise.

 _This is going to be_ good.

Drift tested the floor beneath the feet of his avatar as it approached the pole. For being the back of a vehicle it didn’t rock when he deliberately shifted his weight away from proper balance. The pole felt nice and solid under his hands and he did an experimental spin, delighting in the perfect grip afforded by the dance pole.

_Oooh I like this one._

He let his momentum run down and dismounted, feeling the floor shudder beneath his bare feet. Drift positioned himself with his back to the crowd and placed one hand on his hip, raising the other above the avatar’s head to snap his fingers imperiously.

“DJ, my music if you please!”

Jazz’s amused snicker reached the ears of Drift’s avatar moments before a fast, rhythmic tinkling filled the room. The instant a piano joined in Drift grabbed the pole and spun himself, catching himself and holding on with this thighs to stretch slowly, getting a better feeling for the space while the male singer delivered the first verse.

When the chorus hit Drift exploded into high-energy motion, every pose crisp despite offlined optics and the eyes of his holomatter avatar being closed. He put every ounce of concentration into wooing the watching mechs, trying to convince them that they’d really rather not look away because the best show on the ship was right here.

He didn't need to look to know it was working.

The first song faded out and Drift pushed himself out and away from the pole in a neat little hop, landing just as the bass-heavy thump of an Earth pop song poured from Jazz’s speakers.

He rested briefly, gathering himself tapped a foot in time with the initial beats, adding in some sway with his hips and shoulders as the melody line came in. When the female vocalist began to sing he took two smooth steps to bring his avatar just past the pole and bent smoothly back from the waist, gripping the pole and proceeding to climb towards the roof of the ambulance bay with his head pointed towards the floor.

By the second chorus Drift wasn’t thinking any more, simply feeling the music and moving with it. He forgot the party, forgot the audience, forgot that his avatar was where he’d spent most of his life wanting to be and just _danced_. The next song also had a strong bassline that occasionally cut out, making it perfect to hold a pose that demonstrated his strength, flexibility and the _proper_ way to utilise a holomatter avatar for dancing on a pole. He opened his eyes and grinned widely at the stunned faces of his audience as he pushed himself away from the pole on shaking arms.

 _That’s… not my arms shaking_.

Thankfully the final song of the set relied more on his own two pedes for balance instead of the pole. He swayed and spun, minced in quickstep before slowing to brace himself against the pole for slower, luxurious movements of his torso. Distinct shudders followed full-body contact with the pole and at one point Drift could swear he felt the medic’s engine vibrate right through the metal when he caught it with the backs of his knees.

Distantly, in tiny piece of his processor not taken up with music and the dance Drift wondered if Ratchet was listening to the song, if he understood what Drift was trying to say with his choice of music. He had assembled this particular playlist with Rodimus’ help but never in his entire life had Drift expected to use it. There were perfectly innocent interpretations for all of the lyrics, even this one that was a direct challenge to the mech he’d quietly grown to love.

Ratchet had to understand it. He _had_ to.

 _Roddy is_ never _going to shut up if this doesn’t work._

Drift resumed his final pose as the final beats slammed into silence. Back to the watching mecha, head high, feet planted wide with one hand fisted on his hip while the other one flipped them off with a very Earth gesture. Through the bare feet of his avatar Drift could feel the floor of the ambulance bay vibrating, the entire space seemed far hotter than it had when he first climbed inside. A tense silence filled the bar.

One sparkbeat.

Then the silence exploded into raucous applause and Drift turned his avatar, grinning fit to split his face.

He could see Jazz nodding approval, Rewind and Tailgate’s visors nearly incandescent with delight and Rodimus giving him two thumbs up from the back of the room, effortlessly protecting Drift’s seated and meditative-looking frame from overcharged friends who seemed to have forgotten that right now Drift was so bound up in the avatar program he wouldn’t be able to respond to their attempts to fist-bump his actual frame.

The medic’s voice cut effortlessly through the crowd, silencing the room momentarily.

“I can’t top that.”

More whooping followed, mecha cashing in on wagers and it looked like Rodimus had made a tidy pile of shanix wagering on Drift winning by immediate forfeit.

_He’s earned it._

Then Ratchet’s holomatter avatar was blocking his view. Intensely blue eyes flickering between Drift’s eyes and mouth and the program effortlessly translated EMF projections and armour movements into little human gestures. Ratchet caught his lower lip between his teeth and Drift felt the tight, airless sensation of his vents stalling as the medic’s gaze fastened on Drift’s mouth.

“Now, if I’m not completely misinterpreting that last song,” The medic’s voice came from his avatar, low and rough.

Only Drift would be able to hear him given the level of noise outside the ambulance bay and he was completely frozen, terrified the program would glitch as Ratchet raised his hands to brush his fingers gently along Drift’s jawline. He couldn’t help himself; Drift felt his avatar rise up onto the balls of its feet as Ratchet lowered his head and he met him as an equal participant.

Ratchet’s groan rumbled all around them and Drift was suddenly, intensely aware of the fact that he was kissing Ratchet while _standing inside his altmode_. He swayed, dizzy and wanting as light pressure became slightly firmer and Ratchet proved to be far gentler than Drift had ever dreamed was possible from anyone.

Someone moaned and Drift pressed closer to the medic, tentatively grazing his fingers over Ratchet’s hips. He knew this wasn’t real; that it was just hard light and not their actual frames but he couldn’t resist flicking his tongue along Ratchet’s lower lip to find out how the medic tasted. Overheating warnings buzzed insistently in his consciousness and Drift opened his eyes and pulled away with great reluctance, watching a frowning Ratchet chase his mouth despite the furnace-like heat of the ambulance bay.

“So, you wanna grab that coolant?” Drift asked hoarsely. “Or can I claim a different forfeit from you?”

His Spark was trying to go nova from nervousness. Drift forced himself to stay calm, counting vents as he waited for a response. Ratchet seemed to be in another world, preoccupied and somewhat dazed. Then he blinked and his avatar shook itself at the same time as his frame shuddered around them. Blue eyes bored into Drift, Ratchet’s voice coming from all around them as he finally responded.

“Anything you want.”


	2. Bad Case of Loving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet's party experience didn't go exactly to plan.  
> His plan, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [:Commspeak:]  
>  ** _Song Lyrics_**  
>  Drifts dancing playlist, in order: Let Me Entertain you (Robbie Williams), Keeps Getting Better (Christina), Raise Your Glass (P!nk), Dare (Shakira)

When he’d first heard about the party Ratchet flatly refused to go.

Unfortunately for the CMO he’d underestimated (or maybe forgotten) just how persuasive Jazz could be when he wanted something. He was also surprised by how completely and utterly determined the saboteur was to see Ratchet have some ‘proper’ fun before they fixed whatever had happened to bring their unexpected visitors aboard.

Then _someone_ had not-so-innocently said the words ‘Party Ambulance’ and Ratchet’s fate was sealed.

He hadn’t given in gracefully and a big part it was because Drift was on the bridge tonight and wouldn’t see… _this_. The Swordsmech would either think Ratchet was a perverted old crankshaft or sneer at him for wasting time, shanix and archive space on things like this while Drift and others like him had been starving on the streets.

_Sunstreaker_ of all mechs had been part of the conversation when Ratchet had finally agreed to go (just to shut Jazz up). The warrior had laughed himself silly when he recognised the precise shade of paint that Ratchet mentioned by hex code. It was threats of Bob let loose in his quarters that made Ratchet agree to let Sunstreaker help him get ready for the party.

It was honestly relaxing to spend most of the day with Sunstreaker helping him apply the temporary paint and decals to his armour. Bob was supremely well-behaved and Sunstreaker had even added something to the paint to give it a faint iridescence. Ratchet couldn’t decide if it was silver, gold, pink or a mix of all three but the final result was fantastic. On that background the red plastic ‘Party Ambulance’ decals looked tacky as all Pit.

_It’s perfect._

At Sunstreaker’s urging they waited until the party was well underway before wandering casually into the crowded bar. Ratchet didn’t want to make a big splash with his temporary change of paint colour and Sunstreaker claimed to have always been ‘fashionably late’ when trying to make an impression. Besides, it was more fun to relish individual reactions one at a time.

On a case-by-case basis, as it were.

They collected drinks from Swerve and Sunstreaker wandered off looking justifiably smug. Try as he might, Ratchet couldn’t spot Jazz. He shrugged and sipped his drink, quite happy to socialise and work on getting nicely overcharged while enjoying the little pats and touches everyone was giving his recently-painted plating.

It was _nice_ to be the centre of attention at something other than a disaster, to be noticed for something other than his medical skills for once. It was even nicer to be able to relax _properly_ and Ratchet set to enjoying himself to the fullest, trading innuendo with old friends and letting his own hands wander _just_ a little in response to the way people were investigating him.

A silver flash caught his attention, a familiar blue-visored frame covered in very unfamiliar matte-finished silver bouncing right up to him.

“Ratchet, it’s about time you showed up!” Jazz exclaimed, giving him a thorough once-over accompanied by an appreciative rev of his engine. “So you _did_ keep the schematics. Sunstreaker did a great job matching the colour, that shine’s his addition?”

Ratchet couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he nodded.

 “Get him to tell you the composition, it’s _perfect_ for you.” Jazz twitched his armour suggestively. “You still got the same config on the ambulance bay?”

“Oh yes.” Ratchet confirmed, earning himself a high-five that stung his hands.

“Awesome! You’ll have to show it off later.” The saboteur said a little too loudly, slipping away into the crowd before Ratchet could protest.

_Oh well, at least Drift isn’t here._

It was small consolation, Ratchet reflected on how many exaggerated stories would be circulating around the ship come the next day as he lowered the sensitivity on his new hands slightly and took a large mouthful of his drink. Even if Drift didn’t see this firsthand he’d still be thoroughly disgusted by this time tomorrow. An unseen someone stroked a hand along his lower back, pulling Ratchet from his thoughts. He turned on the spot, trying to see who it was. The mystery mech ducked along behind him but the sparkling EM Field told him who it was. Ironhide; already more than a little tipsy and snorting with laughter as he continued to stay out of the CMO’s line of sight.

“Is something the matter, Ratchet?” Another one of the unexpected visitors asked and Ratchet stopped his fruitless attempts to catch Ironhide in order to pay attention to Prowl.

“Not unless I catch the fragger.” Ratchet growled with no real anger in his tone. He had to cycle his optics when he saw the Praxian’s doorwings, decorated with symbols he knew perfectly well how to read after spending time in Vos and Praxus. “Unless you’d like me chasing someone else instead?”

He raised an optical ridge meaningfully at Prowl’s doorwings, which gave a flirtatious little wiggle Ratchet _definitely_ remembered seeing in Vos during his younger days. The tactician smiled and snagged two beverages at random from one of Swerve’s waiterbots as it passed, allowing his fingertips to slide deliciously against Ratchet’s hand as he handed the medic one of the cocktails. Ratchet suppressed the shiver that wanted to ripple through his frame and his hand tingled, optics tracking Prowl’s hand as he raised the drinking vessel to his mouth.

“If you think you can still keep up with us, you’re welcome to try.” Prowl said, pitching his vocaliser too low to be heard by anyone other than himself and Ratchet.

Ironhide chose that moment to grab Ratchet’s aft, driving whatever the medic had been about to say completely out of his processor.

“It’s not going to rub off.” Ratchet said with amusement as Ironhide tried –and failed- to write a rude glyph on the back of one of Ratchet’s blocky pauldrons. “It’s the good stuff.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Ironhide raised an optical ridge as the other two expanded their conversational grouping to include the warrior who was blatantly ogling Ratchet’s frame from helm to pede while his EM Field tingled with open invitation. “If you need someone to test that with later…”

Ratchet couldn’t help it; he started laughing and even Prowl cracked a smile. Ironhide pretended to be more offended than he actually was, a smirk ruining his act.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Ratchet said, nudging Ironhide with his elbow and taking a sip of the cocktail Prowl had given him. He was beginning to feel a slight tingle of inebriation. “Get a bit of highgrade in you and flash some dirty paint and your processor reroutes all processing power right to yo-”

“Alright, alright I get it.” Ironhide said loudly, knowing exactly what Ratchet was about to say and rushing to cut him off. “No need to spell it out for me.”

“Are you _absolutely_ sure about that? I _know_ how many hits to the helm you’ve taken over the centuries.” Prowl asked with palpably fake innocence and Ironhide spluttered indignantly.

Wicked amusement surged through Ratchet but just as he was about to join the banter someone unexpectedly pinged his comms. He covered his involuntary jerk of surprise by raising his optic ridges at Ironhide, taking a long swallow of his drink while he acknowledge the ping and unpacked the recently arrived file waiting in his comm queue. It was a short text message and a high-resolution image capture, Jazz apparently wanting Ratchet to see someone’s reaction to his party getup.

The message was ‘I think he likes your paint’ and the image was Drift as seen through Jazz’s optics.

When Ratchet opened the image file he almost choked on his cocktail, accidentally downing the entire thing in self-defence to keep from spilling the syrupy stuff down his chestplates. His Spark spun dizzily and his response to Ironhide and Prowl’s concern over his almost-accident was vague, most of his focus taken up by trying to wrap his processor around the implications of the message from Jazz.

There was _no way_ Drift could have been looking at a blocky old ambulance like _that_ , could he? In the image file the speedster’s optics wide and blazing, his mouth open with the tiniest hint of glossa visible as if Jazz had caught him in the middle of licking his lips. Drift appeared to be utterly transfixed by whatever he was looking at and the only other time Ratchet had seen him look even remotely this fascinated by something was between his first and second taste of one an experimental energon treat.

Or just before he’d sliced several plague victims to death on Delphi

_So he’s either about to eat something nice or murder someone._

With the engex-rich cocktail he’d just chugged fuzzing his processor a little Ratchet almost thought he’d opened one of his own memory files by mistake but the timestamp on the image said differently. It was _extremely_ recent.

Recent as in it had been taken within the last few minutes.

The lighting and background also made a compelling argument for a recent image capture as Ratchet found when he glanced around, trying to figure out where the frag Jazz had been standing when he saw Drift. Before he could determine where Jazz had been Ratchet spotted Drift himself, sitting at an out-of-the-way table with a half-empty glass in front of him and Rodimus lounging in a chair beside him. The captain had his pedes up on the table and looked absolutely stunning in his choice of shiny haematite accents but Ratchet barely noticed.

_Oh slag. Drift isn’t supposed to_ be _here!_

Ratchet’s tank dropped into his pedes and he immediately started regretting his choice of attire when the crowd opened up briefly between him and the pair of speedsters, giving him a clear view of the fact that Drift’s plating was completely bare of any decoration. From the way his smooth curves and sharp angles gleamed in the chaotic lighting it did look like Drift had taken extra care with his wax but he wasn’t even wearing the kind of minimalist trim Tailgate or Ultra Magnus displayed. Even though Drift was looking down at the table now Ratchet knew it was far too late to leave and hope he hadn’t been noticed. Jazz’s message and the shrewd look Rodimus flashed him before dropping his pedes to the floor and leaning closer to his Third in Command meant Ratchet –to use a phrase from one of Prowl’s favourite Earth shows- had been ‘busted’.

He turned away from the pair at the table, swiping Ironhide’s glass with a brisk ‘thank you’ and draining it, vaguely wondering how much it would take him to get so completely smashed he wouldn’t remember the evening. The drink had been stronger than he expected, engex burning all the way down his intake and radiating warmth throughout his frame to counteract the chill gripping his Spark.

_He probably thinks I’m a filthy old pervert now._

At least Ratchet wasn’t the only one who’d gone all-out. He took some consolation from seeing how Prowl’s spectacular doorwings drew their fair share of attention and discovering that Jazz was covered in blacklight-reactive markings _on top of_ the matte silver finish. While the CMO’s getup was far and away the bawdiest at least he wasn’t the odd mech out.

Strangely, it was _Drift_ who stood out due to his lack of decoration in the throng of gaudily painted mecha. In Ratchet’s opinion Drift didn’t _need_ cosmetic detailing or fancy polish to look good; he was simply gorgeous in a way that defied Ratchet’s ability to describe.

_First thing tomorrow I’m reassigning him to Ambulon or First Aid. No way I’m going be able to face him after this._

Ratchet was absolutely certain that he’d never be able to look Drift in the optic again.

Jazz wandered back over to their group, his movements more dance than walk ,and Ratchet was torn between conflicting  urges to punch the saboteur for tricking him like this and kissing him in thanks for the image capture of Drift. Another waiterbot scuttled past and Ratchet grabbed two drinks at random from its tray; one for himself and the other to replace the one he’d stolen from Ironhide. His thanks were a grope to the aft and the silliest engex-related pun he’d ever heard that had Ratchet cackling drunkenly before he could stop himself.   

_Already laughing at Ironhide’s jokes. Excellent, in another few drinks I’ll be just plastered enough to forget this entire fiasco._

Of course Jazz wanted to know why he’d started laughing. Ironhide couldn’t repeat himself without glitching his vocaliser so it was left to Ratchet to repeat the joke. It was obvious the he found it almost physically painful to be made to repeat the terrible joke, which did nothing but increase the amusement of everyone within audial range.

“If he’s already laughing at puns like that we’d better get Ratch’ to prove he actually _did_ keep the old Party Ambulance schematics before he has any more engex.” Jazz said, whisking Ratchet’s drink away from the CMO before he could think to hold it out of the minibot’s reach. “I’ve got a few favours ridin’ on ya, Ratchet. You wouldn’t wanna let me down now, would ya?”

A bright blue visor shone guilelessly up at Ratchet and drunk as he was he suddenly found he had absolutely no defences against Jazz’s expert pleading. Pride and indecision fought an uneven battle in his processor and Ratchet didn’t dare look over at Drift’s table while he tried to make up his mind. Rumours about him had probably been flying around the Lost Light ever since the instant the words ‘Party Ambulance’ had been uttered within its halls and whatever was being said had probably been blown completely out of proportion. After seeing the shiny, barely-darker-than-valve-lubricant colour Ratchet was currently sporting any good opinion Drift had of him was doubtlessly ruined.

_What’s the Earth saying? ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’, or something like that. If I’m going to completely disgust him I may was well do it properly._

“Alright, fine.” Ratchet growled. “One _quick_ dance and then you’re getting me absolutely hammered.”

“’S a deal.” Jazz agreed cheerfully, waving people back to give Ratchet room to transform.

When there was enough clear space Ratchet folded down into his alt mode with a flourish, taking on the vaguely unbalanced but immensely practical form of a common Earth-origin ambulance with an extremely _un_ common paintjob and interior. He felt much lighter without all the equipment cluttering up his ambulance bay and Ratchet wondered if this particular schematic would make him a little bit faster on his wheels.

_Can always find out later, Rodimus would time me._

Ratchet booted up the holomatter avatar program, going with the basic schema thrown out by the psycho-reactive program Brainstorm tweaked for the crew. He let it materialise inside what would usually be the main working area of his altmode. As soon as his avatar was posed comfortably against the sturdy pole that took pride of place right at his vehicle mode’s centre of balance Ratchet let his rear doors swing open, grinning from ear to ear when he saw the stunned expressions of those closest to him.

Unlike the sterile, utilitarian interior of his usual altmode this version sported deep protoform-coloured walls and ceiling with subtle veining in it that wouldn’t be visible unless he activated the strobe function of his interior lights. Said lights were currently set to unblinking steadiness and aimed to illuminate the dance pole with Ratchet’s avatar leaning against it. Ratchet’s exhibitionist side and the engex he’d downed too fast helped him forget about the excessively pretty swordsmech in the audience as he drank in the crowd’s reaction. He couldn’t help chuckling quietly to himself when the full effect of the walls and special floor design registered with the watching mech; a dull background buzz of cooling systems onlining or notching up became noticeable despite the pounding music.

_If you think my ambulance bay looks like a messy, well-fragged valve it’s because that’s what it’s_ supposed _to look like_.

The blue-tinted silver and lubricant pink swirling in abstract patters across the floor had been an absolute _nightmare_ to get right but the end result was worth every moment of fighting the design code while putting this together. Ratchet took a few quick image captures while he and Jazz waited for everyone to get over their initial shock. Then Jazz started playing something fast-paced and thumpy and Ratchet began to dance.

The instant he grasped the pole Ratchet realised he’d miscalculated. He hadn’t checked the code over properly, just uploading the most recently-dated copy of his ‘P.Amblnce’ file. Consulting his HUD only confirmed that he had _far_ more tactile sensors running in the ambulance bay than he really should have for this.

_Oh, frag me._

While it was only the normal sensitivity setting of dermal metal it was still _incredibly_ distracting. So distracting in fact that he was forced to put the audience out of mind completely and focus all of his attention on not letting _anyone_ know about the tingle of arousal slowly building within his nervecircuits. This wouldn’t be his best performance by any stretch of the imagination, but hopefully the shock  factor of _Autobot CMO Ratchet_ pole-dancing _inside his own vehicle mode_ would make mecha a little kinder in their evaluations.

A beneficial side-effect of running the additional sensors was that Ratchet burned through the engex in his tanks far faster than he normally would. The downside of this was that now he had no nice fog of intoxication to hide behind, leaving him excruciatingly aware of every single movement of his holomatter avatar inside the ambulance bay. He hadn’t anticipated just how _good_ the feedback from the tactile sensors and the avatar program would be when combined and in sheer self-defence Ratchet was forced to incorporate as many stills and holds as he could. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped. There was nothing Ratchet could do now except hope that Jazz would free him before he lost his composure altogether and had to flee the party.

After a particularly bad fumble Ratchet received a ping to his internal comms that nearly made him fall off the pole.

_I forgot here was here._ How _could I forget he was here?_

He was so startled that he almost lost the avatar program, replying with a request for a three-party conversation with both Drift and the Captain. If the swordsmech wanted to chew him out for his undignified and deviant display he’d have to do so with his best friend -the very personification of undignified and possibly deviant – listening in. Ratchet left Ultra Magnus out of the request because he was under no illusions of whose side the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord would take.

This time Ratchet nearly fell off the pole because Drift and Rodimus _both_ accepted the request.

_Going to brazen this out like the best._

[:You two enjoying the show?:] The CMO didn’t bother hiding just how much he was enjoying himself or the expressions of his audience.

Rodimus was the one to reply and Ratchet swung himself upright to raise an eyebrow in the general direction of their table. So Drift thought he could pole dance, did he?

_Now this I’ve_ got _to see._

If this was the last time he was able to talk to Drift without wanting to die of embarrassment then Ratchet was going to milk it for all it was worth. He goaded the speedster, finally spotting him at the same table he’d been at earlier.

[:Think you can do better, kid?:]

[:I _know_ I can:]

_And stung pride sounds_ exactly _like that._

[:Come over here and prove it then:] Ratchet stepped away from the pole, gald of the reprieve and pretending to pat the smooth metal invitingly. He switched to general comms so the audience knew what the frag was going on. [:Dance off; you and me. Loser buys the coolant:]

Once the shock wore off it seemed to be an incredibly popular idea, although Ratchet started to get worried when Drift didn’t move. The speedster said something to Jazz about a playlist and asked the crowd in general about judges, settling himself more comfortably in his seat. Swerve’s multi-coloured lights reflected exotically off Drift’s glossy plating, the swordsmechs smile was edging on dangerous and Ratchet wondered if Drift was stalling for time while he tried to think of a way to back out.

_Oh no you don’t._

[:You coming over here or what?:] He challenged, crossing his arms.

All Drift did was smirk at Ratchet in a way that made him burn with an utterly impossible desire to taste that half-grin, to find out what the speedster had been drinking and see how well it mixed with the aftertaste of the cocktail lingering on his own glossa.

Before Ratchet could figure out if it was engex or something else putting such crazy ideas into his processor, Drift’s holomatter avatar had popped into existence less than a meter from Ratchet’s bumper. The CMO gaped as Drift executed a standing leap to land easily in the ambulance bay, coming down on the balls of his feet and absorbing the impact with his knees. Ratchet couldn’t believe what he was seeing. _Somehow_ Drift had taken everything about his base mode that was attractive to Cybertronian optics and melded it with an _extremely_ good-looking human form that was even wearing a dancing costume which echoed the major elements of his kibble.

_That’s been modded, but how?_

It was an unbelievable display of trust and skill, to project something that complicated even this far took a level of concentration that would leave very little for paying attention to sources of danger near his frame.

Drift’s avatar grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief and Ratchet felt his Spark do a little jump somewhere in his chassis.

“Is _this_ close enough for you?” Drift asked. His voice emerged from the avatar slightly higher than normal but Ratchet still found it extremely easy on the audials. “Now, are you going to let a _real_ dancer show you how this is done?”

Ratchet couldn’t find his vocaliser; all he could do was stare hypnotised at Drift as the speedster moved past, heading towards the pole with a playful grin spreading across his features. He accidentally brushed Ratchet’s avatar on his way to the pole, subtly reminding the CMO to move out of the way and stop blocking the view.

The instant Drift’s avatar took the pole in a firm grip to do an experimental spin Ratchet knew he was in trouble.

_The sensory circuits. I_ have _to numb them!_

Ratchet had several iterations of this altmode carefully saved from before the war as a reminder of better times and he frantically called up their names and relevant details from deep in his archives as Drift twirled. His avatar brushed the smooth metal in a way that sent tingles through Ratchet’s already primed neural net, making the CMO grit his teeth and cycle his vents slowly.

With a sinking feeling Ratchet finally decoded the shorthand notes attached to the ‘P.Amblnce’ schematic he’d used.

This _particular_ altmode wasn’t meant for public… ‘use’. The tactile sensors that would normally be spread over the dermal metal in his base form weren’t shut down during this transformation. Instead they were rerouted to his ambulance bay and concentrated on the area around the dancing pole. Because the tactile senseors weren’t _supposed_ to be where Ratchet wanted them, in order to get them to go where he wanted he’d had to sacrifice the ability to control their sensitivity once he was in altmode.

They were stuck at default and was _nothing_ he could do to change it.

_I’m so slagged._

Wishing the floor would open up beneath him, Ratchet positioned his avatar inside the ambulance bay and leaned casually back against the protoform-coloured wall with his arms folded. He kept his expression faintly amused, acting as if he wasn’t quietly marshalling all of his willpower to focus on surviving however long Drift took without accidentally giving the swordsmech a good excuse to gut him.

There was no way for Ratchet to control the shiver that ran through his frame as Drift completed his test of the pole, giving it an appreciative caress before stepping back to strike a pose, commanding Jazz to start his music. The saboteur had the nerve to _snicker_ as he did as ordered, something decidedly Human in origin pouring from the speakers. Ratchet briefly contemplated ways of permanently bonding Jazz’s pedes to his own aft.

Then Drift began to dance.

Almost immediately Ratchet was forced to smother a sharp inhalation as Drift leapt into motion, sliding against the pole in ways that should have been illegal. Mercifully he stopped, giving the CMO a few moments to regain his composure. Ratchet got exactly half a minute to admire the grace and beauty of Drift’s slow movements while trying to ignore the firm grip his thighs had on the metal of Ratchet’s altmode.

Something about Drift’s expression or the way he moved during a particular set of lyrics made Ratchet pay attention to what the vocalist was saying.

**_I’m a burning effigy/of everything I used to be./You’re my rock of empathy/my dear_ **

_…What?_

Then the chorus hit and Ratchet had to put every iota of willpower available into controlling his reaction as the cloth of Drift’s costume brushed over his tactile sensors, alternating with the pressure of hands, thighs, knees and arms. He barely even heard the music except as a beat to time his ventilations by, Drift’s frankly amazing dance nothing more than a visual anchor to keep him from falling victim to the rising tide of pleasure Drift was unknowingly causing within his frame.

When the song ended the speedster hopped away from the pole and Ratchet breathed a sigh of relief, assuming it was over.

It wasn’t.

The instant Drift’s feet hit the floor another song started and Ratchet smothered a groan of dismay. All Ratchet managed to see while he braced himself for a fresh onslaught of illicit tactile bliss was a very stylish and extremely acrobatic method of mounting the pole. Then he was right back to gritting his teeth, cursing his own stupidity and pretending to watch Drift’s avatar with a fixed expression he was incredibly glad nobody could see. Ratchet was facing away from the watching mechs and Drift seemed to be too caught up in what he was doing to notice the way Ratchet was glaring at him.

That same intense expression from the first song flitted across Drift’s face. As if that was some sort of cue Ratchet listened to the song just in time to hear something that jolted his Spark.

**_So baby/Yes I know what I am/and no I don’t give a damn/and you’ll be loving it_ **

It was almost starting to sound like Drift had chosen these songs on purpose, but there was _no_ way he could have known how Ratchet intended to paint up for the party. The only reason Ratchet had even _agreed_ to go was because he’d thought Drift would be in a different part of the ship! But he wasn’t. Somehow Drift was here, _inside_ Ratchet’s altmode, dancing like the sole purpose of the CMO’s frame was to provide a place for Drift to showcase his skills.

And his ordeal _still_ wasn’t over.

The theme of the next song seemed to be a spirit of revelry Ratchet could definitely get behind, except for times like _right fragging now_ when he really wished it was someone – _anyone_ \- else but Drift inside his ambulance bay, stoking charge in his circuits with every step and twist against the pole.

Ratchet wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to deal with being on the same ship as the speedster after this, not after _knowing_ Drift had seen this and then proceeded to lay claim to his dancefloor like he owned it. There was no other explanation for the way he moved, fierce and beautiful and so utterly absorbed in what he was doing. Drift was making this space his own and defying anyone –even Ratchet himself- to take it from him.

By the time the song finished Ratchet was practically vibrating with conflicting emotions and the effort of controlling the desire and charge that was flooding through his lines. With a shock the CMO realised he was _physically_ shaking and the temperature within his ambulance bay was steadily increasing. His cooling fans seemed unnaturally loud with the crowd in the bar now dead silent, the music pouring from the sound system coming through with unusual clarity.

He received a single line of text from Jazz, grateful that the saboteur didn’t open a vocal line. Ratchet didn’t think he’d be able to manage that on top of keeping his reactions under control right now.

[:Last one of his set, Ratch:]

The glyph choice was suspicious but Ratchet didn’t have time to ponder it. Something about Drift’s expression and a shift in his posture made Ratchet pay as much attention as he dared to the song, the lyrics burning into him like shots from Prowl’s acid rifle.

**_All of my life/too late/’till you showed up with perfect timing_ **

Ratchet was no longer overcharged, the drain of the extra tactile sensors had eaten through the abundance of energy causing the state _quite_ nicely. As such, he was perfectly capable of thinking through the pleasure surging out from Drift’s contact with his frame in order to put the hints together and make an educated guess about the situation.

_Jazz. Rodimus. They set me up. They set… us… up. Did they?_

A flutter of something he didn’t dare acknowledge as anything like hope burst into flame when the chorus rolled over him.

**_Is it true that you love me?/I dare you to kiss me/with everyone watching/It’s truth or dare on the dancefloor_ **

Drift was spending less time on the pole now, for which Ratchet was unspeakably grateful. It was becoming harder to control the reactions of his frame. There was more prancing around in this dance, Drift moving with the smooth, deadly grace of a predator. He would occasionally return to slide almost full-length along Ratchet’s pole, pressing far harder than Ratchet really wanted him to. His metal had been thoroughly sensitised during the previous three songs and the periods of time without contact did nothing but make it _more_ intense whenever the speedster touched him.

The CMO nearly died of mortification when his engine revved strongly enough during one of Drift’s spins to vibrate his entire frame. Thankfully Drift didn’t seem to notice, continuing to dance without comment.

Ratchet hoped desperately that he was interpreting Drift’s song choice correctly. By now he knew he was shaking badly enough by now for the speedster to pick up on it, even if he wasn’t able to feel Ratchet’s steadily rising charge from inside his insulated ambulance bay.

**_Is it true that you love me?/I dare you to kiss me/with everyone watching/It’s truth or dare on the dancefloor_ **

The song stopped abruptly, no gentle fade out this time. Drift planted his feet firmly against Ratchet’s floor, facing away from the watching mecha and aiming an extremely rude human gesture over his shoulder at the lot of them.

After a second or two of silence the bar exploded into ear-splitting chaos. Ratchet couldn’t see any signs of flickering in Drift’s avatar as the speedster turned around. The smile on his face was the purest, happiest expression Ratchet had ever seen and it took a concentrated effort of will from him to get his ventilation system working again.

_That was really no contest._

“I can’t top that.” Ratchet admitted loudly enough for everyone to hear with no resentment at all.

The noise level after that went through the roof and he approached Drift nervously, the last song the speedster had danced to still pulsing in the back of his mind.

**_Is it true that you love me?/I dare you to kiss me/I dare you to touch me/_ **

_Well, it_ is _true. And if I’m not wrong about this…_

He poured everything he could into the avatar program, much easier to do now that Drift was finally standing still. Coming as close as he dared, Ratchet studied the swordsmech’s expression, searching for any hint that what he was about to do wasn’t welcome. Drift’s eyes widened and he froze when he realised how close the CMO’s avatar was. Ratchet bit his lip, trying to figure out what to say before Drift’s avatar vanished and he lost his chance to act.

_Don’t cancel it, don’t cancel it_ please _don’t cancel it._

“Now, if I’m not misinterpreting that last song…” Ratchet couldn’t believe how hoarse he sounded but Drift didn’t seem to mind.

In fact the speedster leaned slightly closer, eyes burning with the same something Ratchet could feel making his Spark flip over unsteadily. He reached out slowly, fingers brushing Drift’s cheeks as he lowered his head and then Drift surged up to meet him, lips meeting gently then pressing in the most satisfying way and Ratchet never wanted this moment to end. It was so impossibly perfect it had to be a dream, not even the rumble of his frame around them as vocaliser control slipped away from the avatar program could make him stop, not when Drift moaned like _that_ and flicked his tongue across Ratchet’s lower lip, fingers dragging over his hips as if the speedster wanted to pull Ratchet closer but didn’t quite dare.

Then it was ending, Drift’s avatar was pulling away and Ratchet didn’t want it to be over so soon, following the retreating mouth before he could stop himself. He opened his eyes to see Drift flushed and gasping in the ambulance bay that had suddenly turned into an oven as Ratchet’s cooling systems dumped heat through every available surface.

“So, you wanna grab that coolant?” Drift’s words and the low tone they were uttered in made Ratchet’s spark soar. “Or can I claim a different forfeit from you?”

_Oh Primus, can you ever!_

He couldn’t believe it. It _wasn’t_ over, not yet. And Drift wasn’t looking at him the way you’d look at a dirty old pervert you wanted to stab and shove out an airlock. Drift looked more like the way he had in the image Jazz had sent him earlier, tempered with the same nervousness Ratchet had felt just before finally, _finally_ kissing Drift. He wasn’t sure _what_ Drift was offering or what the swordsmech wanted from him but Ratchet knew that right now he’d do anything if it got him the chance to ask Drift if he’d really meant that last song the way Ratchet hoped he did.

_Stop stalling and answer him, you idiot!_

Ratchet gave himself a shake, accidentally shaking his frame as well as his avatar. Drifts flush deepened and his pupils went wide as the ambulance bay trembled around them and Ratchet answered with complete honestly.

“Anything you want.”

No matter what happened next, the expression that exploded across Drift’s face was one Ratchet would treasure until the end of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me like you have no idea. I really don't understand this mushy stuff AT ALL.


	3. Land of Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No communication is had.  
> Assumptions are made  
> Things get awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also titled: 'Land of Confusion BECAUSE FUCK YOU by Fallout Boy'  
> Happy Birthday Iopele, I hope you're enjoying watching these two make life difficult for everyone. I want to quietly beat them with a telephone pole for screwing up my plans for this fic and making it longer than it was supposed to be -.-;

Drift manage to keep his avatar online just long enough to say “The door, five minutes” before the program independently forced a shutdown. Apparently it _really_ didn’t like the lengths he’d pushed it to while kissing Ratchet.

 _I… He…_ Wow _._

He could still feel Ratchet’s lips against his, dermal metal tingling as he brought his optics online and slowly stretched his arms over his head, pointing his toepieces under the table and trying his hardest to be polite in the face of some frankly offensive comments made by his intoxicated and absolutely clueless crewmates.

 _They don’t know what it was like; they only saw it from the outside. To them those_ are _complements._

Quietly reactivating his FIM chip Drift waved away offers of more engex, gratefully accepting a coolant mix someone shoved into his hand. Their overcharged enthusiasm meant some of the drink slopped over the side of the glass and splattered over his hand and the table in front of him. Nobody seemed to mind the mess on the table and Drift quickly licked sticky droplets off his hand before they got under his armour and chugged the coolant blend as fast as he could. Time was ticking onwards and he didn’t want to risk Ratchet changing his mind and leaving without at least talking to him. His could still feel the phantom impression of the ambulance’s lips on his own, heating his audial flares all over again.

 _I want to know if that really meant what I hope it did_.

Unfortunately for Drift the party now seemed to be centred on his table. Nobody was willing to move so he could stand, polite requests went unheard and he really didn’t want to go shoving at mecha who were just having a good time and trying to congratulate him. Even Rodimus’ demands that they give him room were mostly ignored; those who moved back were quickly replaced by others who hadn’t had a chance to praise Drift’s dancing yet.

His five minutes were quickly running out and Drift quietly started to panic, looking around for an escape route. Rodimus wasn’t helping anymore; he wasn’t even _looking_ at Drift, the captain was up on his knees on his chair, waving at someone on the other side of the bar. Drift was keenly aware that this could be his only chance and Ratchet might still change his mind. He couldn’t see _anything_ through the mass of frames gathered around his table, couldn’t even see if the CMO was still in the bar. The internal countdown hit zero and started ticking steadily into negative numbers.

Drift’s Spark sank.

_Should I comm him? Maybe he’ll wait… Probably not, though. Not with the way Ironhide was-_

A familiar Field brushed against him. Someone reached over Drift’s shoulder and deftly swapped his empty glass for a fresh one.

“What’s the holdup? I thought we had a forfeit to discuss?”

Relief crashed through Drift and he tilted his help backwards to see Ratchet smiling crookedly down at him. Mecha were giving them more space now, admiring the sheen on Ratchet’s paint and unwilling to risk jostling and potentially angering the person who put them back together after disasters. Tense joints unlocked all throughout Drift’s frame and he smiled back up at Ratchet, admiring the upside-down view.

“Just being a good sport and giving you a chance to escape.” He said teasingly, seeing something flicker in Ratchet’s optics.

Someone bumped their table and Rodimus choked on his drink, spraying half his mouthful across the table. Drift didn’t care; his Spark was spining dizzily in his chest, from a combination of leftover elation from the kiss and having Ratchet’s EMF so close to his own. He stared laughing, unable to believe that this was actually happening, couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d passed out from the energy drain of running the avatar program and this was a recharge delusion.

Drift’s laughter turned into a yelp of indignation when Rodimus poked him firmly in the side. Being a speedster himself Rodimus knew the weak points of their frametype and he’d hit Drift in a particularly sensitive spot.

“Hey!” He whipped his helm around to glare at the Captain. “What was that for?”

“It’s a bit loud in here and I don’t want you two shouting all the gruesome details right in my audial.” Rodimus said distractedly while swiping a rag at the sticky cocktail he’d spilled down his chestplates. “Go sort it out in the hall or something, the party’ll still be here when you’ve figured it out.”

“Captain’s orders, kid.” Ratchet’s voice was warm with amusement near Drift’s audial flare, sending a shiver through his circuits.

“Well, we can’t argue those or he might decide to kick us off the ship.” Drift said lightly, pushing his chare back carefully so Ratchet had plenty of time to back up as he got to his pedes. “Lead the way, good doctor.”

He bowed with a mocking little flourish and a cheeky wink, trying to provoke a reaction. Ratchet rolled his optics at Drift’s teasing but the corner of his mouth was _definitely_ lifting as he turned and forged a path through the crowd, taking the shortest possible path to the exit.

Following in the CMO’s considerable wake Drift just barely had the presence of mind to swallow the coolant Ratchet had given him and drop the empty glass on a waiterbot’s tray before they left. The nerves he’d somehow forgotten in his outrage at Ratchet’s terrible dancing were returning with a vengeance and he started to regret turning his FIM chip back on.

Someone held the door open as Ratchet approached and suddenly they were out in the corridor, the noise behind them rose then cut off abruptly as the door swung closed and left them alone in the silent, suspiciously empty corridor outside Swerve’s establishment. Ratchet turned to look at Drift, his bawdy paint looking fantastic even under standard shipboard lighting as he raised an optical ridge and spoke.

“Considering the parameters I just set for that forfeit I don’t think this a discussion for a public place, do you?”

Ratchet sounded like he was asking a question, but suddenly Drift couldn’t get his processor to focus on forming an answer. He shook his head mutely in agreement, keeping his optics determinedly focused on the centre of Ratchet’s chevron. It was safe, the same white as normal. It didn’t make him think about pinning Ratchet to the wall and discovering what that pink would look like decorated with streaks of his own red and white. Just to make sure they were really alone Drift risked a glance around. The corridor was empty for the moment, but someone could come along at any moment and he didn’t want anyone to interrupt before he asked Ratchet about that kiss.

_I need to find out if he really meant it._

The possibility of a repeat flashed across Drift’s processor as he tried to speak and his vocaliser oh-so-helpfully decided to shut down.

_Ugh, typical._

Drift had spent so much time thinking of things to say to get Ratchet’s attention for a few seconds and now that the ambulance was completely focused on him he couldn’t think of a single thing to say!

Admittedly, this was one scenario Drift hadn’t thought of, not even when he’d put that playlist together. Using his avatar to pull out all his old rev-club tricks, finally getting one of the best kisses of his life from the CMO and then having Ratchet basically hand him a ‘get out of jail free’ card to do anything he wanted with the mech? It was all so far-fetched he could hardly believe it was happening.

Processor spinning, it took Drift two tries to reset his vocaliser and get it working. He was intending to ask if Ratchet had meant what he hoped with the kiss but his vocalier betrayed him.

“My habsuite is closer, if that’s ok?” Drift couldn’t believe how normal his voice sounded.

Ratchet nodded and held his arm out in an odd gesture Drift couldn’t place; palm-down with the forearm parallel to the floor. It seemed familiar but the speedster honestly couldn’t figure out where he should know it from. He stared at the iridescent pink-painted arm for a long moment, glancing back up at Ratchet’s face with a raised optical ridge. He was about to say something sarcastic when the ambulance’s EMF filled with understand and his mouth twitched up in a soft little smile Drift had never seen before.

The medic reached out, gently took Drift’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. Drift’s fingers tingled. Ratchet’s plating was smooth and warm beneath his hand, confirming his hunch that Sunstreaker had helped Ratchet with his party getup. Only Sunstreaker would insist on this standard of buffing for temporary paint and Drift was very grateful that the frontliner had done so, no matter how hard it was to keep his fans off when he realised that every single sparkly, lubricant-coloured plate was probably this satiny smooth.

 _Oh Primus below_.

The corridor was suddenly very warm.

“Lead the way.” The ambulance prompted.

Ratchet almost sounded _playful_.

In a daze he started walking in the direction of his habsuite, feeling Ratchet’s EMF slide companionably against his. If he didn’t know better it almost seemed like the ambulance was openly flirting with him. It was far more likely that everything from that kiss to the faint smile still on Ratchet’s faceplates could be the result of Swerve’s rather deadly cocktails.

_I need to ask him. I can’t wimp out this time._

Drift could feel the medic’s engine thrumming through the solid plating of his side, his own Spark slowly matching the pattern of vibrations as they walked. His place wasn’t in the best location but it _was_ relatively quiet and fairly close to the trouble spots Rodimus usually delegated Drift to deal with. He still hadn’t worked out if Rodimus got him to do it so often because he couldn’t be bothered with breaking up fights or if it was just because Drift happened to be closer and could get there faster.

When they reached Drift’s habsuite he input his door code in a daze, paying more attention to the ambulance beside him than what he was doing. It all seemed too surreal to be happening. Ratchet let go of his arm while Drift unclipped his scabbards and stowed all three of his blades safely in the weapons stand. He turned around to find Ratchet inspecting one of the Cybertronian-sized reclining chairs he’d had custom-built and stored for most of his time with the Wreckers. Even though either chair could hold someone half again as large as Drift with three times his mass they didn’t look like it. They just looked like normal earth chairs that had overdosed on growth hormones.

Ratchet seemed to be a little wary of actually sitting in one, so Drift strolled over and flopped into one, watching Ratchet watch him. When the chair didn’t collapse under Drift’s weight the medic slowly lowered himself into the other, facing Drift with a serious expression on his faceplates.

“So. This forfeit.” Ratchet said without preamble, “There isn’t much I’ve not seen or done over the years so you don’t need to worry about my tender sensibilities.” There was a wicked glint in his optics as he leaned forward. “I meant it when I said anything you want, Drift, but I _will_ bargain like hell if it’s something I’m not completely comfortable with. You ok with that?”

Drift was staring with wide optics as every single fantasy he’d had over the past several million years cascaded through his processor in a high-speed montage of potential options. The ambulance’s body language and Field clearly said he expected Drift to request some outrageous form of interfacing and the speedster licked his lipplates, watching Ratchet’s optics track the movement of his glossa.

 _That kiss was amazing. I could have another one, a_ real _one. Or I could ask him to kiss somewhere else…_

The lingering taste of coolant and high grade on his lipplates brought that train of thought to a screeching halt. If he started kissing Ratchet now there was no way he’d want to stop and there was a very good chance that in the morning Ratchet would regret everything and avoid Drift for the rest of their natural lives.

There was no way in the Pit Drift wanted to be a drunken one-night stand.

 _I want more than just tonight_.

Stalling for time, Drift tapped his chin with a finger and leaned back in his chair, wondering what the hell he was going to do. It was still fairly early; he _could_ ask Ratchet for more time to think about it and was sure the ambulance would agree. They could go back to the party and hope that Magnus would keep Rodimus off his back.

As he pretended to think Drift let his gaze wander over the erotically-painted frame of the ambulance and Ratchet noticed. Smirking, he leaned back to copy Drift’s pose. The medic’s optics widened and surprise shot through his Field when the back of the chair continued to move until it reached a forty-five degree angle and the front of the chair opened up into a foot support. Drift chuckled at the expression on Ratchet’s face as the CMO wriggled into a comfortable position and relaxed, sighing happily through his vents.

 _Yeah, he’s still drunk. He’d_ never _act like this if he was sober._

Something about the quality of that sigh reminded Drift of just how many hours the CMO had spent in the Medbay over the last few days, first dealing with the initial wave of casualties from the dimensional rift opening and then the ones caused by accidents while they tried to figure out how to fix the blasted thing.

Suddenly he knew exactly what he was going to demand of Ratchet and he couldn’t stop the extremely silly smile spreading across his faceplates at the sight of the fierce mech slowly rotating his ankle joints and looking like he wanted to melt into the embrace of the chair.

“You like the chair?” Drift asked redundantly. It was pretty obvious how much Ratchet liked it.

“Oooooh yeah.” Ratchet groaned shamelessly, leaning his helm back with an audible crackle of neck joints that made Drift wince. “Where did you find someone willing to make a Cybertronian-sized one of these?”

“I have my ways.” Drift grinned at the glare the ambulance gave him. “Anyway, we’re supposed to be talking about that forfeit, not my lounge suite.”

Ratchet grumbled something Drift was glad he couldn’t hear but he did get the ambulance’s full attention.

“Have you figured out what you want?” There was something guarded in Ratchet’s expression now.

It was hard not to ask for another kiss but Drift hoped his actual request wouldn’t seem too weird. If he was lucky Ratchet wouldn’t take off first thing in the morning and they would have a chance to talk. _Really_ talk and have the conversation he hadn’t been brave enough to initiate yet.

“You recharge here tonight, in my berth with me so I can make sure you actually get a decent amount of recharge.” Drift wondered if he was imagining the flash of disappointment in Ratchet’s Field as he continued. “You work far too fragging hard and I want to make sure you get at least one full night of rest on this crazy ship.”

“Just recharge.” Ratchet’s expression was completely unreadable.

“Yes.” Drift kept his reply to one word, silencing himself by shutting his vocaliser off before he could start babbling.

He didn’t want this to be a drunken one-night thing Ratchet regretted in the morning. If he still avoided Drift after this then it would hurt far less if he didn’t get a taste of what he would be missing. If Ratchet started avoiding him he would still get to wake up with him one, just once. The rest of it didn’t. There was just _so much_ he’d imagined doing with Ratchet over the years that Drift realised that he wouldn’t know where to start, anyway. He’d rather not chose just one thing to experience for real at the expense of everything else.

And he still needed to ask Ratchet about that kiss.

_I don’t want it to be a once-off and I don’t just want to frag. I want to do all the other things too, all the ordinary things._

Drift’s lipplates tingled with the memory of their holoform kiss and he scrubbed at them with the back of his hand, hoping the heat in his finials would subside.

The other chair creaked, the footrest folding away as Ratchet leaned forward, looking at him with an intensity that stopped the air in his vents.

 

## ~V~V~V~VV~V~V~V~

 

_He’s changed his mind._

Ratchet was sure of it.

Away from the party and alone in Drift’s quarters the swordsmech was no doubt starting to sober up a little and probably regretted letting things go as far as they had. The subtle rejection hurt but he completely understood why Drift would back down now, even with the memory of that incredible kiss still sizzling along his neural pathways.

 It didn’t matter that Drift wasn’t acting drunk or his EMF didn’t feel in the slightest like that of an intoxicated mech. Peer pressure and the kind of eager attention they’d been getting at the bar would push a mech into doing things they weren’t genuinely comfortable with. He was probably ashamed of the spectacle they’d just made of themselves. Unlike Ratchet, Drift wasn’t one for making a show of anything but his speed or incredible skill with a blade.

Then something else occurred to him

Drift had been given _carte blanch_ to do anything he wanted and the swordsmech asked to have a sleepover like a pair of human children.

_… Maybe he didn’t have to change his mind in the first place._

All the way back to Drift’s quarters Ratchet had been gratefully feeling his state of arousal subside to controllable levels and more than half-hoping that the swordsmech would take the opportunity to test some of the ‘Party Ambulance’ stories he’d doubtlessly heard since the whole fiasco started. But Ratchet knew he could very well have gotten everything wrong, he could have misread the entire situation.

Maybe they _hadn’t_ been set up, maybe he’d read too much into Drift’s song choice because of his own feelings for the speedster. Knowing Drift he could very well have just gone along with the kiss to avoid causing a scene by objecting to it and this was… what _was_ this? A weird way of letting Ratchet down easily? Was Drift going to wait for Ratchet to fall into recharge so he could revenge-prank him?

On top of that, most of their past still loomed between them. They hadn’t discussed much of it at all. A lot of it was just too painful to bring up and so far they had managed to get along just fine without talking. Ratchet knew very well that a functional working relationship was one thing, jumping into berth with someone you had this much baggage with was an entirely different prospect.

It was also very possible that Drift just didn’t like interfacing. That was a distinct possibility given some of the injuries Ratchet had repaired on him back in Rodion. There hadn’t been any hint of the speedster having an intimate relationship with anyone in the entire time they’d been on the _Lost Light_ , either.

Ratchet’s processors ached under the sudden load of possibilities and doubt.

_No matter how much I want to overload him into stasis life just isn’t that easy._

As much as he didn’t want to leave the embrace of the truly fantastic chair Ratchet forced his frame up to a sitting position with a creak of protesting joints and leaned forward, rested his forearms on his knees and searched Drift’s face for any clue as to what the swordsmech was thinking.

Drift looked confused and a little nervous, watching Ratchet with a guarded feeling to his Field. It was hard to resist the urge to reach over and smooth out the little crease that always appeared between the speedster’s optical ridges when he was worried. Touching without permission was basically asking to have his arms removed so Ratchet kept his hands to himself.

“Are you sure?” The ambulance asked bluntly, reluctantly leaving their playful banter behind. “Drift, you don’t have t-”

“I’m sure.” Drift was adamant, fiddling with the catches of his forearm plating. He dropped Ratchet’s gaze only to seek it out again in the next instant, opening his mouth and closing it again before changing his mind and adding “I kinda want to see if that myth about you never sleeping is true or not, so it’s two birds with one stone”

He flashed Ratchet the same charming grin he always used to neutralise difficult situations, switching back to the teasing they’d been doing since Drift finished dancing. Ratchet cycled his vents quietly, wondering what he’d done to make Drift react like this. The swordsmech _had_ seemed perfectly willing to kiss him earlier. Ratchet concluded that Drift had been going along with it to avoid causing a scene. It seemed like something the mech would do. Guilt surged with the ambulance and he kept it to himself with the ease of long practice.

_I’ll make it up to him._

With that in mind it was easier to squash the inappropriate hope that Drift might want him to sleep over more than one night. That ridiculous thought had no place here. Sure, with their efficient cooling systems speedsters tended to get cold when they weren’t moving around but there were easier ways for Drift to stay warm in berth than stealing the CMO to use as a personal heating block. If Drift could get his hands on custom-built reclining chairs then he was more than capable of acquiring a Cybertronian-sized electric blanket.

_This is the only chance I’m ever going to get and I never even had a chance in the first place. I guess I should be glad he didn’t decapitate me for the kiss or the stupid temp-paint as soon as we left Swerve’s._

“Well I hope you’re prepared to be disappointed.” Ratchet said dryly, “Because not only do I recharge like a normal mech I also hog the berth.”

“Now you’re just trying to talk me out of it.” Drift’s smile was warmer and more genuine than his previous well-practiced charm. “Not gonna happen, Ratchet. Shut up and accept your fate.”

Sighing louder this time Ratchet began peeling the hideous ‘Party Ambulance’ stickers off his forearms and shoulders, stuffing them into subspace. Drift’s vents made a funny hitching sound when he got the last one off and reluctantly hauled his tired frame up out of the armchair, bracing his hands on his lower back to stretch out his unhappy spinal struts. The creaking of his frame made him feel even more decrepit next to the speedster.

_Rebuilds would have helped you with that, too._

When Ratchet finished stretching and looked down Drift had that rapt, predatory look on his face again and his finials showed _very_ clearly in the infrared range. The intensity of having that hungry gaze focused on him at close range pinned Ratchet to the spot and he had to override his cooling fans several times before he embarrassed himself.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched on until being stared at like an interesting dissection specimen finally got to the medic and he spoke.

“Do I have to stand here all night or do I get to recharge at some point?”

The words emerged sounding harsher than he meant them to. Drift started and shook his helm, vocaliser clicking a few times before he spoke.

“No. Berthroom’s through that door there.” He pointed somewhere behind Ratchet.

“Right.”

Turning on his heel the ambulance stalked towards the only door in the wall Drift had indicated, hearing the swordsmech scramble to his pedes and follow. The door opened easily, swinging inwards on silent hinges to reveal a dimly-lit room and what was absolutely the most luxurious berth he’d ever seen. Ratchet stared, trying to wrap his processor around what he was seeing.

 _Primus below, that looks comfortable. Is that_ three layers _of memory foam padding?_

“Problem?” Drift asked from just behind him, sounding far too amused for his own good.

“Nope.”

Taking a deep, steadying in-vent Ratchet entered Drift’s berthroom and cast himself gracelessly on the berth.


	4. Spark in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally reach the berth.  
> Time for some more awkward conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Spark in the Dark' is a song from Alice Cooper's 1989 album 'Trash'

The reaction to his berth was everything Drift had hoped it would be. Just because he spouted silly spiritual things to get Ratchet to pay attention to him didn’t mean he’d live like an ascetic! A really nice berth was the first thing he’d bought when he had the spare shanix to do so and he’d continued to indulge himself in that area. New Crystal City had been no different and not even Wing’s incessant teasing had been able to stop him.

_And now I_ finally _get to share it with Ratchet._

_Oh Primus._

_Ratchet_ in his berth.

It was something Drift had spent years – _millennia_ \- imagining but he’d _never_ thought for a moment that it would actually happen.

Some verbal prodding was required to get the ambulance out of the doorway and moving again. He seemed to have stalled at the sight of Drift’s berth and the swordsmech preened silently at the clear flash of raw envy in Ratchet’s EMF. The berth was waist-high, the thick layers of durable padding almost entirely hidden under a pile of cushions and blankets of varied origin. It looked positively sybaritic.

And it was even more comfortable than it looked.

Drift had to offline his vocaliser on an embarrassing noise when Ratchet stomped across the room and flung himself onto the berth, his reinforced frame sinking into the soft surface. All the times Drift had imagined this situation he’d always thought the medic would be, well, more _restrained_ , more _civilised_ when it came to getting into bed. CMO Ratchet didn’t seem like the type of mech to throw himself onto a berth as if he was greeting a long-lost _Conjunx Endura_.

The ambulance was given a minute to register the sheer _quality_ of Drift’s berth while the speedster admired the way Ratchet’s deceptively strong frame sprawled across it, looking like the living incarnation of lust with the way his racy paintjob shimmered in the low light.

It may have been deliberate or it could have been a total accident but Ratchet had landed so he was slightly off-centre, spread across most of the berth and leaving just enough room for Drift to lie primly beside him.

Or not.

Drift reached the berth in two long strides, crawling up the length of the platform and settling to lie flush against the medic’s frame. He rested his helm on Ratchet’s blocky pauldron and draped one arm casually over the sturdy waist, feeling the way Ratchet’s engine caught and shifted gears. Centuries of controlling his frame to fake lust as well as meditation techniques learned later on meant that when he was paying attention Drift could control his physical reactions far better than Ratchet was doing. No revving engine would give Drift away if he didn’t want it to, but he knew that if Ratchet’s kept going like that then he would start having trouble with localised temperature increases.

_Never really got the hang of controlling that_.

“Comfy?” Ratchet’s familiar voice was sardonic, amusement and something else bubbling though his Field.

“Yup.” Drift replied, projecting smug comfort. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Ratchet’s vents cycled on something that could have been a yawn or a sigh.

“Good.” Drift sent a shortwave command and the lights faded off, dropping the berthroom into thick gloom broken only by optics and biolights.

“Sweet dreams, Ratchet.”

The familiar grumble brought a smile to Drift’s face that he didn’t bother trying to hide. He lay in darkness, memorising the feel of Ratchet’s strong frame next to his and the scent of the medic mixed with good-quality polish and clean tang of temp-paint. He could hear Ratchet’s systems slow a little as the ambulance relaxed but they didn’t enter the steady rhythms of recharge, his vents sometimes cycled at odd intervals and both his armour and Field flexed ever so slightly in reaction to his thoughts.

It didn’t seem like Ratchet was able to recharge.

For that matter, neither could Drift.

As wonderful as it would be to wake up to find Ratchet right there beside him, the entire experience was too rare, too special for him to want to miss a second of it by recharging. The armour under his cheek was silky smooth and his fingers itched to move; to stroke, to feel the texture of Ratchet’s plating and remind himself that this wasn’t a rare good dream, this was _real_.

_If I go petting him like a cybercat he might just paralyse me permanently._

With that in mind Drift resisted temptation and focused on the soft vibrations of the ambulance’s engine under his arm and the gentle fuzz of his relaxed EMF, drifting into a semi-aware state. After half an hour or so Ratchet shifted, bringing his arm around to cradle Drift’s back comfortably. It was nice; supporting Drift so he wouldn’t roll away and creating a lovely band of warmth along the thinner plating of his lower back. A contented hum escaped Drift’s vocaliser before he remembered that he wasn’t actually asleep.

“You’re still awake?” Ratchet’s voice was low and he sounded a little surprised.

“Yeah.” Drift kept his tone neutral. “Not really tired yet.”

“Me neither.”

There was a pause and through their Fields Drift could feel the ambulance bracing himself for something. His ventilation system tried to pause itself and he overrode the silly autonomic compulsion, keeping the cycles even while he waited for Ratchet to speak.

“Drift?”

“Yes?”

“That song, the last one.” The familiar voice was hesitant and Ratchet shifted a little, fingertips twitching against the armour of Drift’s lower back. “Did you mean it?”

Hope roared to life in Drift’s Spark and he lost the fight to keep his ventilation system working normally. His frame heated fractionally until air started circulating through it again. It was a small miracle from Primus that his vocaliser didn’t reflect the emotional storm surging through his frame when he sought clarification.

“The last one?”

“Yes.”

Ratchet’s tone was carefully neutral, his Field flickering with something that made Drift smile into the comfortable darkness of his berthroom.

“I did.”

Dead silence followed and some half-formed thought nagged at the back of Drift’s processors.

“Ratchet?”

“Yes?”

“Afterwards, did you mean it?” Drift found it hard to make the glyphs, fear almost freezing his vocaliser.

_What if I got this all wrong?_

“Th-the kiss. Did you… mean it?”

Drift wanted to hide. What if Ratchet had only kissed him because he was overcharged?

“I did.”

Two words, husky and rough beside his audial flare. Two words that turned Drift’s entire universe on its head and made every single moment of aching indecision since departing Cybertron fade from memory as if they’d never been.

“Can I kiss you again?” The words slipped out before he could think around the haze of euphoria flooding his systems and pushing his previous concerns right out of the airlock.

Ratchet answered before he had time to panic, fingers stroking the armour of Drift’s lower back in soothing motions.

“Any time you like.”

His cooling fans engaged with a whoosh of warm air, dumping the heat caused by worry and the arousal that had been lurking in his mind and frame since he first set optics on Ratchet that evening. Drift lifted his helm from the medic’s shoulder and wriggled up the berth until their faceplates were level. Propping himself up on an elbow he looked down at the familiar faceplates of the ambulance, lit only by the glow of their optics. In the faint light Ratchet almost looked like the same mech who’d saved Drift’s life in the Dead End, all the harsh angles softened and faint scars erased as if the war had never been.

The naked hope in Ratchet’s expression made Drift’s Spark expand, filling his entire frame with light.

“Is now ok?” Drift breathed, half-afraid that this was a dream and speaking too loudly would end with him waking up alone in his berth like he had so many times before.

The smile Ratchet gave him was one Drift wanted to engrave on his memory banks forever. The ambulance’s lipplates moved but only faint static emerged. He held Drift’s optics and nodded instead, filling his Field with assent and tracing the glyph-shape for ‘yes’ on Drift’s lower back. Hardly daring to respire, Drift laced the fingers of their free hands together and lowered his helm to kiss the medic.

Their lipplates ghosted together in a barely-there whisper of contact until Drift finally gave in to a lifetime of longing and pressed himself closer to the medic.

It was soft and sweet and Ratchet was just as gentle as he had been in his ambulance bay, letting Drift lead and following expertly. The warm hand on Drift’s back and the strong fingers intertwined with his helped ground Drift as he learned and re-learned the exact shape and texture of Ratchet’s lipplates and how the ambulance’s solid frame felt beneath his. They traded delicate, nibbling little kisses for what felt like hours, the barest shy tips of glossas joined the explorations while their cooling fans cycled up in unison to a dull background drone.

Drift had to break away when he couldn’t ignore overheating warnings any longer; shifting to rest his forehelm against Ratchet’s and gasp air through his mouth to help his overtaxed cooling system. Unfocused blue optics stared up into his as Ratchet did the same, his armour flaring out to increase air circulation around his protoform. With a shock Drift realised that at some point during the kissing he’d moved and was now sprawled atop the ambulance. Their clasped hands were beside Ratchet’s helm, the medic rubbing Drift’s plating gently with his thumb and Drift’s free arm now hooked under the one Ratchet had wrapped around his waist. He was unconsciously stroking the side of the medic’s helm with his battle-toughened fingertips and their legs were tangled together in a way that would have made Drift’s finials flush if they hadn’t already been blazing hot.

“You alright?” Drift’s voice was rough and edged with static. “I’m not blocking your vents, am I?”

“No, I’m fine.” Even though Ratchet’s words had less static in them his voice was still gruff in a way that sent thrills through Drift’s circuits. “ _Better_ than fine. And you? Are you alright?”

“Same here; way, _way_ better than fine.” A breathless laugh he couldn’t suppress bubbled up inside Drift. “I’ve wanted to do that for as long as I can remember.”

Ratchet apparently lost control of his vocaliser again. It clicked a few times and he wrote a shorthand glyph for ‘me too’ on Drift’s backplates while his chevron and faceplates glowed searingly bright in infrared. The ambulance’s engine still rumbled away powerfully despite the self-consciousness that surged in his EMF.

“I’d happily do that forever.” The gentle motion of Ratchet’s fingers against his hadn’t faltered for an instant. His Field wrapped around Drift in a cocoon of warmth. “If that’s all you ever wanted to do, I’d kiss you forever if you let me.”

Armour scraped as Drift shook his helm, accidentally rubbing their nasal ridges together. He let the hand stroking Ratchet’s helm wander a little, boldly settling his palm against the side of the medic’s face.

“It’s not _all_ I want.” Drift’s voice was teasing and he tried to smile but he was too close for the ambulance to see it. “There’s so much I want to do with you, Ratchet. But I don’t want this to be a one-night thing.” Before he could stop himself everything came pouring out. “I don’t want this to be some once-off overcharged roll in the berth that you regret in the morning. I… I don’t think I could bear it, if you regretted having been with me. I don't… I don’t want you to feel ashamed of me. Not because of that, not because of _anything_ I can control from here on out. I’ve already let you down enough.”

Horrified by what he’d just said, Drift forcibly shut his vocaliser down before he could make the situation any worse. Ratchet was staring at him with too-bright optics and Drift felt his own ventilation system started hitching and skipping. He wanted to hide. Everything had been going so _well_ and then he just had to start running his vocaliser and ruined everything. Why had _said_ all that?

He was about to flee the whole awful mess when Ratchet moved, the hand on Drift’s back sliding up to rest just below the clamp that usually held the Greatsword while he wriggled the other one free of the swordsmech’s tight grip and wrapped it firmly around Drift’s waist. Taken by surprise, Drift struggled to override the automatic impulse to fight the mech restraining him, to attack and break out of the confining hold as the medic hugged him firmly to his chest.

_He’s_ not _an enemy… and this doesn’t feel like an attack._

Instead of running away, Drift slowly forced his tense frame to relax. It took an immense effort of will. To keep his focus he risked lowering his helm into the space between Ratchet’s neck and shoulder, feeling the medic’s EMF surge in a positive response to the action.

“I’ve been angry and I’ve been disappointed with you in the past but I’ve _never_ been ashamed of knowing you.” Ratchet’s voice was little more than a growl in Drift’s audial.

Drift systems automatically went into stealth mode as he absorbed every word that Ratchet said.

 “You are courageous beyond all belief and have made harder decisions than many on this ship ever had to. You stood up for your principles but you weren’t so arrogant that you couldn’t admit when things had gone wrong. I _couldn’t_ be ashamed of being associated with someone as strong, as resilient, as determined and as brave as you.”

Drift couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wanted to deny it but a small, unconquerably hopeful part of his Spark refused to do so.

“I never said anything because I thought I wouldn’t be welcome. Whatever you’re willing to share with me is more than I would _ever_ have dare to ask for, even _this_ ,” The ambulance tightened his hold briefly to show what he meant. By now the hitching and skipping of Drift’s vents must have become noticeable, because the next few sentences were delivered in the dry tone of Standard Hatchet Humour. “And I’ll have you know that I’ve been friends with Jazz _more_ long enough to know his tricks. My FIM chip has been active since the moment your holoform disappeared from my ambulance bay just in case he convinced Swerve to mix a Polyhexian Pulveriser. You can be damn sure that this _isn’t_ engex talking.”

It was a tactic out of Drift’s own repertoire; using humour to lighten a situation that threatened to get too intense for comfort. Silently thanking Ratchet for the easy out, Drift automatically played along to help steer the conversation away from the emotional intimacy he didn’t know how to handle.

“Same here, people kept shoving engex and high grade at me afterwards.” Drift flexed his armour in a gesture of contempt and snorted through his vents. “They were pretty obvious, either congratulating me for kicking your aft or trying to entice me into a quickie.”

He didn’t hide his amusement at his crew’s blunt honesty, projecting it for Ratchet to feel. Somehow he accidentally managed to project the low-burning desire he was _still_ feeling, all of which seemed to surprise Ratchet.

“You don’t mind interfacing?”

The sentence was blurted with a stunning lack of finesse that Drift would never had expected from someone who used to rub shoulders with Primes and Senators on a daily basis. It might have even been funny, if he could just work out what in Primus’ name prompted Ratchet to ask the question. Or what he meant by it.

Drift cycled his vents slowly, soaking in the feeling of Ratchet’s frame beneath his and the strong arms around him while he tried to figure out the best way to word things.

_Lovely; out of one awkward conversation and right into another._

“No, I don’t mind interfacing. It _did_ take me a long time to find out what I enjoyed and even longer to see it as anything other than a job.” Drift said slowly, trying answer as best he could when he wasn’t sure he understood the question. “When people find out who I am –and who I was- they get some really weird ideas about what I’d be into. It’s rather off-putting, so while I _do_ like interfacing now my choice of who to interface with is rather limited.”

He let that sink in, feeling Ratchet’s armour flex against his as the ambulance thought. Slowly, carefully he brought his arms up around the outside of Ratchet’s and slipped his hands behind the ambulance’s solid pauldrons, staying carefully clear of the wheel wells and the tyres inside them. Drift’s Spark lurched and spun dizzily in his chest as he finally returned the medic’s embrace.

“I’ve run into the same problem.” Ratchet admitted when he finally spoke, shifting his grip on Drift a little, his Field wrapping the speedster in pure acceptance and understanding. “You have no _idea_ how many people assume I’ve got a medical kink just because I’m CMO.”

The apparently random subject change told Drift everything he needed to know. While he did make some mental notes for later, mostly he just basked in the feel of Ratchet’s understanding and acceptance, unable to resist pressing his chin into the ambulance’s shoulder.

“I’d say it’s probably about the same number of people who assume that because I _was_ a Decepticon I’d automatically be a hard-core sadist.”

“Idiots.”

“Yeah.”

Ratchet hummed and his fingers moved slowly against Drift’s back, seeking out places where smaller armour plates overlapped each-other and gently freeing up any jammed ones he found. Each time he did this a small tingle surged outwards from the spot, feeding the pleasant feeling in Drift’s frame. He sighed in bliss as a particularly nasty three-plate lockup was soothed, burying his face in Ratchet’s neck cables. They stayed like that for a long time, Drift revelling in the closeness as Ratchet explored his backplates, the ambulance’s Field gradually smoothing out and losing its usual bristly feeling as something about being able to _touch_ _and make better_ relaxed him.

“You said there were a lot of things you’d like to do.” Ratchet murmured, slowly working at stiff jointing on Drift’s upper back. “Would you like to do some of them tonight?”

The shiver that shot through Drift’s frame was from both the tone of Ratchet’s voice and having a particularly annoying tense spot in his shoulder suddenly release and send a wave of tingles through his neural net that completely undid the last of his apprehension. Shifting his weight to his elbows Drift reluctantly lifted his head from its comfortable spot in the crook of Ratchet’s neck.

“I _really_ want to see you overload.” Drift admitted, feeling heat rush to his faceplates and finials. “I want to see you overload tonight and know that you’ll still be here in the morning.”

As deep shudder worked its way through Ratchet’s frame as Drift pressed a kiss to the central housing of his chevron.

“I have no arguments against that.” The medic sounded a little out of breath. “May I overload you as well?”

“Maybe. I won, remember?” Drift teased, playfully rubbing his olfactory housing against the centre of Ratchets’ chevron before shifting to put his mouth right next to the medic’s audial and lowering his voice until he was growling in the filthiest tone he was capable of. “I get my turn first and then you can have a go. If you’re still capable of moving.”

Ratchet laughed, a low rich sound that Drift had never heard before.

“Bring it on. Remember, those decals weren’t just for show. You sure you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew?”

The way Ratchet seemed to be constantly underestimating Drift –first with the dancing, and now in the berth- was becoming more than a little annoying.

_I’m going to cure him of that._

“Hmmm, now _there’s_ an idea.” Drift’s purred words had more than a hint of a growl to them.

 “And what’s that?”

In response Drift nipped at the tough cover of a bundle of nerve wires just hard enough to sting but not _quite_ hard enough to leave a mark. Ratchet’s entire frame jerked beneath him, engine and vents stumbling. Shock and pleasure shot through his EMF where it lapped against Drift, clearly approving of unexpected roughness.

“Biting.” Drift growled unnecessarily, raising his helm and baring his denta against Ratchet’s audial.

“I see.” The medic’s voice was a breathless imitation of his usual sarcastic tone. “Interesting idea.”

“Mmhmm” Drift outlined as much of the wheel wells on Ratchet’s shoulders as he could reach. “It wasn’t exactly what I had planned, though.”

Ratchet had recovered from the jolt and was tracing secondary transformation seams all along Drift’s back and sides, making the speedster hyperaware of his frame and every place their armour touched.

“What did you have planned?”

Another shortwave command brought the berthroom lights up to half strength and Drift pressed his lipplates close to Ratchet’s helm and told him everything he wanted to do with the other mech. Somehow he made it through without his voice dissolving into static and when Drift finished speaking he somehow found the willpower to peel himself away from Ratchet and sit up on his heels to see the reaction to his plans.

It was _absolutely_ glorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was SUPPOSED to be a 3-chapter fic. Then these two gits started angsting on me. Again. *sigh*  
> So Happy Halloween! Next chapter will be the last one, for sure.


	5. Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift and Ratchet do the do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Ignite' is a song by NZ band Shihad (who are known as 'Pacifier' in the USA because your censors made them change their name)

Ratchet wrestled with the overpowering lust Drift’s words had kindled within his frame.

Coherent thought was all but impossible. All he could do was cycle his optics at the speedster sitting over him, try to keep his venting as even as possible and try to keep his armour closed. The fraying threads of his willpower just barely managed the feat as the delightful images danced and spun within Ratchet’s processor, conjured by Drift’s words and the promise thick in his Field. He could only imagine what he looked like; painted up in one of the filthiest colours known to Cybertronian kind, sprawled on the most comfortable berth in the known universe and reduced to a helpless puddle of lust by words alone.

It was a small mercy that Drift’s pelvic armour had come to rest just below the juncture of Ratchet’s thighs so there was nothing touching his embarrassingly hot pelvic armour.

Drift didn’t seem to mind that Ratchet was talking a while to get his vocaliser working to approve or decline his suggested activities. One side of the speedster’s mouth was lifted in a smirk while he once again all but devoured Ratchet with his optics. The combination of that focused hunger with what Drift wanted to do threatened to melt the ambulance on the spot and he searched for distraction to help him regain some kind of composure.

The smooth, glossy curves of Drift’s armour gleamed temptingly in the half-light of the berthroom, inviting admiration and worship. This time Ratchet couldn’t resist the urge to touch, bringing both hands up to rest on the outside of Drift’s knee joints and sliding the tips of his fingers over the outer curve of sleek thighs while his fans blasted scalding air over them both.

“So, am I to assume that you liked the sound of that?” Drift asked eventually, his voice a thick tangle of amusement and hunger.

“Yes.” The single glyph was all he could manage.

Ratchet thought he’d seen all of Drift’s smiles but the one that spread across Drift’s faceplates was like nothing he’d ever seen before. His dazed and slightly overwhelmed processor came up with the ridiculous comparison of a particularly nice sunrise he’d back on Earth.

Drift scooted himself further down so he was perched on Ratchet’s broad kneeplates and looked down at the ambulance almost reverently; as if the ambulance was something sacred, as if Drift almost couldn’t believe that he was finally allowed to touch.

Fingers that could do incredible amounts of damage stroked gently over the flat planes of Ratchet’s thigh armour, probably enjoying the ridiculous amount of wax Sunstreaker had covered him with. He’d grumbled about it at the time but now Ratchet silently blessed the golden warrior for the effort as Drift slid his hands over Ratchet’s plating. The first distracting slide of callused digits along a certain transformation seam could have been an accident but Drift repeated it; calling a second wave of delicious prickling sensations from the area to spread through Ratchet’s frame.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And _again_.

Each time Drift stroked his transformation seams the speedster started a little further along from where the previous stroke had started and continued past where it had ended; moving closer to Ratchet’s pelvic armour each time. It was exquisite torture and Drift seemed to be intent on making it last as long as physically possible, progressing in such tiny increments that the ambulance wanted to snap something about paint drying faster than this. It felt too good to stop even for the promise of more pleasure elsewhere, so Ratchet let his complaints about the pace become moans of bliss.

Drift probably guessed what he wanted to say; the speedster’s Field was completely attuned to Ratchet’s reactions, drinking them in and responding with _satisfaction/self-assured/delight_ whenever he got one he particularly liked from the ambulance, making sure he repeated whatever motion had caused it just to watch the medic squirm beneath him. Ratchet had never thought it was possible to wring this much pleasure from these transformation seams, not on someone with his frametype! _Somehow_ Drift was managing to do the impossible; and when Ratchet thought about what the speedster could do when he got to the more sensitive parts of his frame the ambulance nearly overloaded on the spot.

_Primus, he’s going to kill me like this!_

“Drift?”

One static-free word at a time was about all he could manage, and all he got from Drift was a wicked smirk and one word in reply.

“Patience.”

Ratchet growled and gasped when strong thumbs pressed into a certain half-hidden sensor cluster half-way up his thighs that sent fire shooting straight to his Spark.

_Definitely going to kill me, and what a way to go._

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Looking down at the mech lying beneath him Drift felt his mouth go dry. He licked his dry lipplates and devoured the Primus-sent vision that was Ratchet in his berth.

The medic’s optics and biolights blazed with arousal, casting odd shadows across his deviant paintjob, his whole frame shimmering in the low light. Armour plates flexed and shifted, flaring to expose glimpses of protoform and cabling that reminded Drift with a pleasant shiver of what Ratchet’s ambulance bay would look like if he transformed right now.

With a supreme effort of will Drift kept his pelvic armour closed and continued stroking the mech below him, committing every twitch and gasp to memory. It was almost too good to be true; he’d waited so long to be able to look and touch as much as he wanted and now that he could he wanted to savour every single second of it.

He continued his explorations of the medic’s frame, leaving those strong thighs and moving up to slide his fingertips gently over the deliciously smooth armour of Ratchet’s abdomen, deliberately avoiding his pelvic armour. The way the medic’s strong engine revved and thundered away between Drift’s knees as he moved up was intoxicating; vibrating right up through Drift’s frame and setting his circuits ablaze with desire. He made sure to remember every place that made the ambulance’s engine thrum harder, every place that brought those groans from the medic’s vocaliser, emptied his faceplates of worry and replaced it with wonder and sensuality Drift had never seen the likes of before.

_I told you, Ratchet. And now I’m going to_ show _you._

He knew Ratchet expected him to pay attention to the obvious and universally sensitive places on someone of his frametype; namely the chevron, hands and major transformation seams. The places anyone would touch if they wanted to give the medic a good time.

But Drift knew better.

Long hard years deliberately honing his skills to give the best overload possible with the least amount of effort or involvement on his part followed by learning how to kill efficiently meant that Drift’s knowledge of Cybertronian anatomy was as detailed as any medic’s, even though it was acquired and used for vastly different reasons.

So not only did Drift know the obvious vulnerabilities of most frametypes; he knew a lot of the hidden ones too.

And how to exploit them.

On top of this, early in the war Drift had made a point of getting on the good side of the Decepticon medical staff; _especially_ those who had the same basic frame and altmode as Ratchet. And Ratchet hadn’t changed his basic build very much –if at all- over the years since they’d first met, so all Drift’s practice was paying off now in ways he hadn’t dared dream of.

He ran strong fingers around the glass of the medic’s chestpiece, pressing into certain little notches he _knew_ never got enough attention Ratchet’s frame arched beneath him, a beautiful deep moan rolling from his vocaliser that sent shivers down Drift’s spinal strut.

“I really _could_ keep you all night if I wanted to, you know. Keep you teetering on the edge of overload for _hours_.” Drift purred, smiling down at the squirming medic.

Drift knew he looked a bit predatory right now with the way he was ogling the ambulance but he couldn’t bring himself to care, Ratchet’s reactions were just _too_ good; his attention totally fixed on Drift to the exclusion of all else, like the speedster was the only thing that mattered to him in the entire universe. A tiny part of Drift was still afraid that if he looked away for even an instant Ratchet would disappear and this would all turn out to be a dream.

Their Fields were woven so firmly together it was almost impossible to tell whose emotions were whose, whose desperate lust and adoration and uncontrollable joy was surging through the thick electromagnetic tangle between them. Ratchet ran his glossa over his lipplates, fingers tracing abstract loops over the smoothly waxed curves of Drift’s thigh armour while the speedster used his own fingers and knowledge of Cybertronian anatomy to make the medic _writhe_ beneath him.

They never broke optic contact, not for an instant and Drift _saw_ how Ratchet’s optics shifted colours as he deftly stoked the medic’s arousal.

_Oh yeah, I should probably finish what I was saying_.

“ _Hours_ , Ratchet. Right on the edge.” He repeated, grinning widely enough to show his pointed dentae. “Then, just when you think you’re _never_ going to overload I’d get you off so hard your processor has to reboot.” Drift knew his fangs were showing, knew his smile probably looked alarming and tried to dial it back a little but there was no decrease in the attraction he felt pouring from Ratchet. “And all of that without going anywhere near your hands _or_ your array. _Without even using my mouth_.”

Drift purred the last five glyphs in a lecherous tone of voice he’d _ever_ thought himself capable of producing. Ratchet didn’t seem to mind it, his expression somewhere between lust and horror at the prospect of being inundated with pleasure for _that long_ without an overload. By now the medic had to guess that Drift was fully capable of doing what he claimed. The ambulance’s moved but no sound emerged. He looked absolutely exquisite and Drift found it very, very hard to keep going with what he was doing and not lean down and kiss the mech senseless.

“Do you want me to keep going like this?” Drift asked, unable to keep the hunger from his glyphs. “Or d’you want to hear Plan B?”

Ratchet’s optics went wide and he looked at Drift in a way that made the speedster’s Spark hammer at the inside of its crystal chamber. He still wasn’t sure he was awake; this was far too much like his dreams.

_Apart from that paint. I_ never _dreamed anything like that._

“Thought you were gonna bring your A-game.” Ratchet’s voice was hoarse and raspy with the same lust that was thick in his Field. “So _bring it_.”

Drift couldn’t stop the smile spreading over his faceplates and for the first time in his life he didn’t want to, no matter how stupid he looked. The warmth reflecting back at him from Ratchet’s faceplates and Field were more than worth it.

_‘Happy’ is a good look for him. A really,_ really _good look._

“Alright, then.” Drift shifted up onto his hands and knees, conveniently freeing Ratchet’s legs. “Spread your legs for me.”

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

It took a few seconds for Drift’s words and his change in position to register in Ratchet’s processors. He was more than a little dazed, thoroughly drunk on the incredible pleasure Drift was somehow conjuring within his frame and the glorious smiles the mech would grace him with. When Ratchet finally figured out what Drift had asked him to do he wondered how the frag he was going to get his limbs to cooperate. Every strut felt like it had been replaced with rubber, his protoform melted and run out through armour that was made of nothing but hot wire and tactile sensors.

Drift’s touch had set his entire frame ablaze and Ratchet never wanted to put the fire out.

Somehow Ratchet got his legs to obey, spreading them apart in a slow slide that wasn’t entirely deliberate teasing; his frame hadn’t been this relaxed in longer than he cared to remember. He wasn’t entirely capable of following Drift’s murmured plan to the letter, it was too much to ask for Ratchet to keep his hands to himself until Drift was done and he got his turn to see what Drift would look like overloading under his hands.

Drift was hovering over him, pinning Ratchet with that intent, focused gaze which combined with the open wonder in his Field to make the ambulance feel like he’d tripped and fallen into an alternate reality where his frametype was considered attractive and all his crazy daydreams might actually come true.

_According to Drift some of them are about to_. _For real_.

Ratchet shivered, wondering if his old parts were going to survive the experience.

_A partial rebuild might not actually be such a bad idea_.

When there was enough space for his frame between Ratchet’s thighs, Drift placed a gentle kiss right in the centre of the medic’s chevron and slipped away to take up position on the berth between iridescent pink legs while shivers of bliss still chased their way around Ratchet’s neural net.

Getting the temp-paint on his _entire_ frame had been incredibly awkward but it was well worth it to head Drift’s strangled moan and feel the shocked lust in his Field when the speedster saw that he’d been _extremely_ thorough.

_Oh yes, we did every. Single. Plate._

Battle-roughened fingertips brushed the ambulance’s pelvic armour gently, almost reverently. Ratchet moaned shamelessly and arched into the contact, ignoring the way his indecently pink frame reflected the light and choosing instead to revel in the way Drift’s optics moved slowly up the lines of his frame until they reached his faceplates. Those fingers never stopped moving on Ratchet’s armour, drawing circles around the section of armour protecting his valve.

“Open up, Ratch’.” Drift’s voice was hoarse, filled with static and the incredible emotion that saturated his Field. “Wanna see you.”

Ratchet complied without a second thought, opening the secondary cover a fraction of a second after triggering the primary armour sequence so that to Drift it would seem like his valve was appearing from behind multiple layers of curtains. The hungry moan that burst from the speedster was well worth every second of standing bent at the waist with his legs spread, waiting for the paint on his pelvic and dorsal armour to dry.

 “ _Primus_ ,” Drift breathed, licking his lipplates as he devoured the medic’s array with his optics. “You look so much _better_ than I imagined.”

_He’s been imagining what my equipment looks like?!_

As much as Ratchet wanted to confirm that little revelation –and that he hadn’t been alone in his dirty little fantasies about what Drift had under his armour- it was impossible to form words with Drift’s fingertips trailing through the throbbing, saturated folds of his valve; seeking out the nodules of external sensory nodes hidden in the slick protoform and watching his every twitch with a focused intensity that wasn’t doing anything for the ambulance’s self-control.

 “Do you want to know why I chose this?” Drift asked in a husky voice as he rubbed a thumb through the trail of lubricants running from Ratchet’s valve. “Why, out of everything we could do tonight, I want to see you overload like this?”

Mercifully he eased off his exploration long enough to give Ratchet the chance to reply.

“Why?”

“Because I want to be able to watch you,” Drift bit his lip, momentary embarrassment flickering through his Field accompanied by a surge of hunger Ratchet responded to without thinking, arching into the fingers on his folds. “If I was using my mouth I wouldn’t be able to see properly; and if you got your hands on me I sure as _Pit_ wouldn’t be able to concentrate on watching you.”

The pictures Drift was painting with his words were almost as good as what his hands were doing, fondling and stroking between Ratchet’s thighs. Ratchet allowed the desire they summoned to amplify what was already filling his Field and the embarrassment in Drift’s projections faded a little. By now it seemed that Drift had every one of his external sensory nubs located and he was stimulating them with deadly precision; leaving Ratchet just enough processor power to listen while every other iota of his attention was focused on the touch of Drift’s fingers

“And the first time I see you overload with your spike I want it to be while you’re inside me.” A low-voiced admission in a voice thick with hunger that Ratchet answered with an incoherent garble of sound, trying to force himself down on the finger he could feel hovering just at the entrance to his slick and aching passage. Drift moved with him, effortlessly agile.

“I don’t care about getting off tonight.” The speedster continued, honesty plain in his Field. “All I want to do is to watch you come undone under my hands, to find out what you look like when you overload and wallow in every single _nanoklick_ of it.” His voice dropped half an octave and Ratchet nearly sobbed, desperate for Drift to stop teasing. “I’m being completely selfish and _I don’t care_.”

The speedster held Ratchet’s gaze while he whispered the last three words and finally, _finally_ moved his finger, sliding effortlessly into Ratchet. The world blurred as his callipers flexed around the digit, gripping it snugly. Drift paused, probably gauging the placement of Ratchet’s internal nodes because when he moved he somehow managed to bring Ratchet more pleasure than should have been possible with a single digit.

Distantly, Ratchet was aware of crying out; of arching against the berth and pleading with the speedster for _more, more, please don’t stop_.

Now that Drift was out of reach Ratchet had nothing to hold on to, nothing to grasp and use to ground himself. No matter how his fingers itched to touch that smooth white plating he had to bury his hands in the berth coverings instead, twisting his fingers into the soft fabrics and holding on for dear life as the speedster smiled beatifically and proceeded to reduce Ratchet’s entire universe to nothing but the touch of Drift’s fingers and blinding, molten bliss.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

It was everything Drift had ever hoped for and _more_.

Seeing Ratchet losing every last scrap of his monumental self-control, and abandoning every shred of restraint and giving himself over completely to Drift; knowing the medic was placing himself and his pleasure entirely in Drift’s hands and trusting the speedster to take care of him.

It was magnificent.

Drift committed all of it to memory; every little expression that flickered across Ratchet’s faceplates, every gasp and cry, the heavy press of his Field and the way his paint shimmered as he writhed on the berth, hands fisted so tightly in the blankets that Drift was honestly surprised he hadn’t torn them.

_Oh Primus, whatever I’ve done to deserve this I hope I do it again_.

As much as he wanted to prolong the beautiful sight the last thing Drift wanted to do was cause Ratchet even a the tiniest bit of discomfort. When he caught the first hint of possible over-sensitisation in Ratchet’s reactions Drift placed a thumb over the medic’s favourite external node and gave a little twist with the three fingers he had buried in Ratchet’s valve.

Ratchet overloaded with a massive convulsion and a shattered cry, optics flaring and shutting off and his Field whipping at Drift in a desperate attempt to share some of the absolute ecstasy pouring through him. A purr rose from deep in Drift’s chest as he felt Ratchet’s valve tighten around his fingers, lubricant pouring from the hot depths of the medic’s frame and streaming out over his hand, forced through the gaps between Drift’s fingers by the rhythmic clutching of Ratchet’s overload.

Despite the urgency within his own frame Drift found it surprisingly easy to restrain himself, to savour the moment and watch as Ratchet went limp on the berth, hot air pouring from his vents. Drift knew that he probably had the universe’s dopiest grin on his face but it was impossible to care when he saw the corners of Ratchet’s mouth turn up, the shocked bliss on the medic’s faceplates becoming a dreamy, sated smile.

When he eased his fingers from Ratchet’s valve the medic’s optics came online, a sliver of deep blue light watching as Drift slowly licked his fingers clean, deliberately taking his time as he enjoyed the zinc tang of Ratchet’s fluids.

_He_ does _taste good_.

“Found something you like the taste of, have you?” Ratchet’s Field was a froth of teasing and affection, overlying a sense of deep satisfaction that thrilled Drift to his core because _he_ was the one who had put it there.

Drift hummed an affirmative, finish his clean-up as Ratchet slowly unwound his fingers from the berth coverings, flexing them and beckoning to Drift with open invitation in his Field and a charmingly crooked grin on his faceplates.

“I can return the favour, if you like?” He offered, much to Drift’s surprise. “You’re looking a little twitchy.”

Now that Ratchet had drawn his attention to it, Drift couldn’t deny that his armour was still ripping and quivering in reaction to the arousal that beat through his lines and gathered in a hot pressure low in his pelvic array. He bit his lip, feeling more than a little embarrassed by just how turned on he was. Pressing his things together in an attempt to hide the brilliant infrared glow of the armour over his interface array just made the situation worse.

_I want… I want_ him _._

“You sure?” He couldn’t help checking, needing to be _absolutely_ certain.

Ratchet sat up, moving far more smoothly than Drift thought the medic should be able to after such a hard overload.

“Absolutely.”

His glyph and Filled with complete and utter sincerity and so much eagerness that Drift couldn’t resist the urge to cross the distance between them and kiss the medic’s crooked smile.

One kiss turned into another and before Drift knew what was happening he was lying on his side facing Ratchet with one of his knees hooked over the shimmering pink of Ratchet’s hips, marring the smooth wax and temp-paint with long scratches as he kissed and moaned and kissed some more, devouring Ratchet’s mouth and trying to press as much of his frame as possible against the medic. One hand supported Ratchet’s neck, the other exploring as much of Ratchet’s frame as it could reach.

The armour over Drift’s interface array slid open long before Ratchet got his hands anywhere near his pelvis, secondary covers also retracting to expose everything he had to the medic’s touch. Fingers skimmed both his spike and valve, reminding Drift what self-control was supposed to be.

He gasped an apology into Ratchet’s mouth, trying to force his spike to retract through sheer force of will. An amused negation of the apology was the last thing Drift was able to properly process before Ratchet proceeded to show him the true meaning of manual dexterity, stroking his spike with the perfect amount of pressure while the other hand did things to the folds and nodes of his valve that were probably illegal in several galaxies.

Pleasure Drift had never known existed built within him, until all he could do was cling to Ratchet’s armour, shuddering and gasping against the medic’s smile.

_It’s never… it’s_ never _felt like this before_.

It was almost too much, knowing that it wasn’t a dream. Knowing that he actually had Ratchet in his berth, that it was the medic he’d wanted forever who was doing these things that felt far, far better than anything in his lonely fantasies.

What the speedster found even more amazing than the pleasure Ratchet was bringing him was that he never once forgot who he was with, who was making his frame sing with bliss and bringing him to the edge of an overload so intense he thought he might just offline when it finally crested.

It started in his valve, ripping outwards in waves of slow fire that were followed an astrosecond later by a second explosion originating from his spike, the combination almost sending him into protective shutdown.

Somehow Drift managed to stay online, awareness creeping back as the storm passed to left him feeling sated and utterly spent. Eventually he noticed that Ratchet’s hands were still touching him intimately, but the medic’s entire frame was utterly motionless and his Field was filled with the surging tension of a mech on the verge of overload.

It took Drift a minute of thinking before he understood why, then he carefully took Ratchet by the wrists and raised the medic’s messy hands up to his faceplates. He met Ratchet’s optics and smiled, savouring the stunned reaction before slowly licking every trace of his own overload from Ratchet’s hands.

He dragged the process out as long as he felt he could get away with, watching the medic dissolve into writhing, wide-opticed bliss. This overload was just as beautiful to watch as the first and Drift was forced to use the leg he still had hooked around Ratchet’s hips to keep Ratchet from thrashing his way right off the berth when he overloaded with a deep groan and an ecstatic flare of his Field that seared brilliantly across Drift’s sensors.

There was no way Drift wanted to move and it didn’t seem like Ratchet wanted to either. The medic pulled Drift closer and pressed their forehelms together, rumbling somewhere deep in his chest. Drift let the deep contentment he felt flow out into his Field where the other mech could pick it up. His answer was a steady purr as their Fields flowed together in a sleepy mix of _happy/sated/content_ and Drift risked nuzzling Ratchet’s nasal ridge with his own. A purr of his own started when Ratchet pressed back -not very much, but hard enough to count.

_I don’t want tonight to end._

It was getting harder for Drift not to fall into recharge. He was so warm and comfortable and those amazing, universe-shattering overloads had worn him out more than hours of hard fighting. There was something he needed to say before recharge interrupted him and the sleepy fuzz stealing through Ratchet’s EMF gave him the courage to voice it before either one of them fell asleep and he lost his chance.

_I’m never hesitating again._

“Ratchet?”

“Mmm?”

“I…don’t want this to be just one night.”

Drift felt his finials heating as Ratchet’s optics came back online, crinkling at the edges. Joy exploded through Drift’s frame as he felt the answer in the Ratchet’s Field before he spoke.

“Me neither.”

Unable to contain himself, Drift wrapped himself as far around Ratchet’s frame as he could and still be comfortable with Ratchet putting his arms around him same in return. Secure in the knowledge that tonight wouldn’t be the only time he got to do this Drift finally let recharge claim him, looking forward to waking up with the medic in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so glad this thing is FINALLY OVER.


End file.
